ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴛᴡᴏ

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ

SOFIA

"You should have told me." I say to Xavier, and he lets out a deep sigh.

"I know. I just wasn't sure how to tell you." He says.

Zoe and Lala left two hours ago, and I had been contemplating confronting him, but I finally did.

The physical pain from the C-section was dull, numbed by the medication, but it was the emotional agony that was the sharpest.

"What if she comes back, Xavier?" I ask.

"Look, I called a friend on the force he's looking for Jenna, and he also wants you to file an official police report." Xavier explained.

"And why didn't you tell me?" I ask.

"Because I was going to do it. So you wouldn't have to relive it."

We were both silent for a while.

"What if she comes back...." I say softly, my voice shaky.

"I wanted to talk to you about staying with me." He says.

"What?"

"I know things are complicated with us, but it's safer for you and Saint." Xavier explains.

I sigh and play with my fingers. Things aren't exactly great between Xavier and I, but he was right. Going back to my place would be a nightmare. I don't think I can ever see myself going back there.

"I want to be there, Sofia." He adds and holds my hand.

"Okay." I agree, and he gives me a small smile. "Wait, my phone.. where is it?"

"It must be back at your place." He says.

"My parents. I need to call them." I say to him, and he gets up.

"I have their information. I'll call them once we get you settled into my place, okay?"
 
"Okay." I agree.

I glance at Saint whos peacefully sleeping.

"You should get some rest. I'm gonna go get you some lunch and make a few calls, okay?" He says to me.

I nod, and Xavier places a kiss on my forehead.

He then hands me a phone. "This is my spare. My numbers on here are call if you need me."

"Okay." I say, taking the phone.

Xavier hesitates for a moment and then leaves the room. I scroll through Xavier's spare phone just looking for something to pass the time.

The quiet hum of the hospital room is suddenly broken by a piercing cry. It's Saint. He's alone in that transparent crib, wrapped in a soft hospital blanket, his tiny body squirming and his face scrunched up in discomfort. I glance at the clock - only 16 hours since the c-section.

I wince as a surge of pain shoots through my abdomen. My body is a battlefield, raw and tender from the surgery. I should be resting, but the heart-wrenching sound of Saint's cries makes me flinch with a different kind of pain. I feel a pang of guilt for being afraid to hold him. Every time I've tried, he'd start crying harder, as if my touch was distressing.

"Okay, Sofia," I whisper to myself, "You can do this."

Mustering all the courage I can, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I take a deep breath, feeling the chill of the hospital room air against my skin. My feet touch the cold, sterile floor, and I instantly miss the comfort of the bed. But the cries of my baby are more important.

For the first time since the surgery, I stand up. A wave of nausea hits me, but I steady myself against the bed rail. Each step towards the crib feels like a mile-long journey. I wince as I take the first step, then the second.

Finally, I reach the crib. Saint is there, his small face red and scrunched up. His cries echo loudly in my ears, a symphony of discomfort that tugs at my heartstrings. I reach out, my hands shaking slightly, and slowly lift him. Despite my fear, I hold him close to me, his tiny body against mine. He's warm and soft, a tiny bundle of life that feels both fragile and incredibly resilient.

"Hush, it's okay," I murmur, gently swaying back and forth. My body protests, but I ignore it. Right now, it's just me and Saint.

Slowly, his cries diminish. His eyes open, a beautiful shade of brown staring back at me. A sense of relief washes over me. I did it. I managed to comfort my baby.

Finally.

I sigh softly as Saint's cries resume, breaking the peaceful moment we had just found. Gently, I lay him down on the bed, wincing with every movement. My body protests the strain, reminding me of the recent surgery, but I push through the pain. I need to take care of my baby.

With trembling hands, I reach for the diaper bag that Zoe brought earlier. I fumble with the snaps, struggling to open it. Finally, I retrieve a fresh diaper and wipes. The scent of baby powder fills the air as I unfold the diaper, readying it for Saint.

As I begin to lift him, Saint squirms and cries even louder. My heart aches with his distress. I try to soothe him with soft words and gentle touches, but his cries only intensify.

"Shhhh, please stop crying, please..."

It feels like each scream is a direct hit to my already fragile state.

I take a deep breath, fighting back tears of frustration and exhaustion.

Carefully, I gather Saint in my arms once again, holding him close to my chest. I lean back against the bed, finding a more comfortable position. I unbutton my blouse, exposing my breast. My hands shake as I guide Saint towards me, attempting to get him to latch.

But he continues to cry, his tiny mouth refusing to find the nourishment he needs. Panic starts to rise within me.

What am I doing wrong? Why won't he latch?

Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I feel a mix of emotions - frustration, guilt, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. I'm exhausted, physically, and emotionally drained, and I just want my baby to stop crying.

"Please, Saint... I'm sorry I don't know what I'm doing."