A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

Josh says no. His eyes move to Leo and he looks saddened by it.
I feel guilty for the lie. It’s not this client but another who lost a baby
at thirty-two weeks. When she told me about it, I was completely torn
up. It took everything in me not to cry as she described for me the
moment the doctor told her her baby didn’t have a heartbeat. Labor
was later induced, and she had to push her dead baby out with only
her mother by her side. Her husband was deployed at the time. After,
she was snowed under by guilt. Was it her fault the baby died? A
thousand times I held her hand and told her no. I’m not sure she
ever believed me.
My lie has the desired effect. Josh stands down, and asks if I need
help with anything before I leave. I say no, that I’m just going to
change my clothes and go.
I step out of the bathroom. In the bedroom, I close the door. I grab
my scrub bottoms and a long-sleeved T-shirt from my drawer. I lay
them on the bed, but before I get dressed, I pull my phone out of my
pocket. I take a deep breath and hold it in, summoning the courage
to look. I wonder what waits there. More nasty threats? My heart
hammers inside me. My knees shake.
I take a look. There are two messages waiting for me.
The first: Water broke. Contractions 5 min apart.
And then: Heading to hospital.—M.
I release my pent-up breath. The texts are from my client’s
husband, sent from her phone. My legs nearly give in relief, and I
drop down to the edge of the bed, forcing myself to breathe. I inhale
long and deep. I hold it in until my lungs become uncomfortable.
When I breathe out, I try and force away the tension.
But I can’t sit long because my client is advancing quickly. I need
to go.