A Mother’s Intuition [POV: Abigail]
The clock on the bedside table glowed 1:37 AM, casting a soft blue hue across the darkened room. Abigail lay on her side, one hand resting protectively over her belly, the other clutching the edge of Vincent’s pillow.
He was late. Again.
She stared at the ceiling, her mind a mess of swirling thoughts, replaying every excuse, every late-night meeting, every carefully worded explanation. Vincent was always working, always meeting clients, always somewhere else. And yet, something about tonight felt… off.
She had spent the evening talking to Evie over the phone, trying to convince herself she was just being paranoid.
“I just feel like something’s wrong,”
“Then ask him, Aby,””Talk to him before your mind goes places it shouldn’t.”
But that was the problem.
What if she asked, and the answer was something she didn’t want to hear?
What if she was right?
What if all of this—their marriage, their attempt at rebuilding something broken—was already starting to crumble?
She squeezed her eyes shut. No. Stop. She was spiraling.
Vincent loved her. He had married her. They were having a baby together. He had promised.
She took a deep breath and rolled onto her side, gripping her phone with trembling fingers.
She couldn’t take it anymore.
Her thumb hovered over his contact name, then she pressed call.
The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
No answer.
Her heart pounded.
She redialed.
This time, he picked up.
“Hey, baby,”
Abigail frowned. “Where are you?”
“The gym,”
She sat up in bed, pushing her hair from her face. “The gym? At this hour?”
“I had a long day,””Needed to clear my head, you know? Gotta be in shape before our baby comes.”
Her lips parted slightly, caught between relief and something unsettling she couldn’t quite place.
Then, her phone buzzed again—a message.
A picture.
Vincent in the gym locker room, shirt off, sweat glistening on his chest.
“I needed to be fit before the baby comes because I’m gonna take care of our baby and you. I’ll be home soon.”
She exhaled, slowly, forcing her shoulders to relax.
“Okay,””I’ll be waiting.”
He chuckled softly. “Love you, baby.”
“Love you too.”
The call ended.
She stared at the screen for a long moment, her stomach churning.
Something still didn’t feel right.
Maybe it was the way his voice had sounded off—a little too rushed, a little too eager to explain.
Or maybe it was just her overthinking again.
She sighed and placed the phone down on the nightstand, trying to shake the unease creeping through her.
Her gaze drifted toward the ultrasound printout lying beside her, the tiny blur of life that was growing inside her.
A boy.
Their baby boy.
A small, bittersweet smile tugged at her lips.
Vincent didn’t know yet.
She had wanted to tell him in a special way, maybe over dinner, maybe with a wrapped-up onesie that said “Daddy’s Little Champ.” But all of that could wait.
When he came home, she would tell him.
And everything would be okay.
