“I can’t live like this anymore.”
His voice was sharp enough to make me freeze.
I turned toward him.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I really can’t control it.”
Ryan stared at me as though my pregnancy was something I was doing deliberately to annoy him.
“You’ve been moving around for hours.”
“My back hurts.”
“Well, now my back hurts because I haven’t slept properly in weeks.”
I placed one hand over my stomach as our daughter shifted inside me.
“I’ll try to be quieter.”
“That’s what you said yesterday.”
Ryan threw back the blanket, walked into the living room, and returned with my car keys.
He tossed them onto the bed.
“Then find somewhere else to sleep.”
At first, I thought he was joking.
I stared at the keys lying beside my knee.
“What?”
“Your car seats recline.”
My chest tightened.
“Ryan, I’m eight months pregnant.”
