Wild Ride

Spencer

It was barely three months into the pregnancy, and Stephie already looked like she'd been battling it for a lifetime. I watched from the doorway of our bedroom as she tried, unsuccessfully, to find a comfortable position in bed. Every movement was slow, labored, like she was carrying a weight far heavier than her belly, which was still only just starting to show. But the symptoms—the exhaustion, the nausea, the headaches—they seemed to hit her all at once, and with no mercy.

I'd read the books. I knew the first trimester was supposed to be tough. Morning sickness, fatigue, the usual stuff. But Stephie was dealing with so much more. Every day, it felt like a new symptom was added to her growing list of miseries.

Another groan echoed from the bed, followed by the sound of her shifting, again. She hadn't found a comfortable position in days, and the dark circles under her eyes told me how little sleep she'd managed to get lately. I grabbed the glass of water I had just filled and walked over, sitting gently on the edge of the bed next to her.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, even though I knew the answer. She turned her head toward me, her face pale and drawn, a sheen of sweat on her forehead despite the fact that it wasn't hot in the room.

"Like hell," she muttered, her voice raw with fatigue. She ran a hand over her still-flat stomach, almost glaring at it. "I thought this was supposed to get easier after the first few weeks."

I handed her the glass of water, watching as she took a small sip before setting it down, barely able to muster the strength to drink. "Do you need anything? Tea? A snack?"

She shook her head, leaning back against the pillows with a sigh. "If I eat anything, I'll just throw it up again. I can't keep anything down. I'm nauseous all the time, Spence." Her voice cracked, and I could see the frustration building in her eyes. "It's not just in the mornings like everyone says. It's every hour of the day. I feel sick constantly, like I'm on a never-ending rollercoaster ride I didn't sign up for."

I reached out, placing my hand on hers. "I know this is hard. You're going through so much, but it's okay to feel miserable right now. You don't have to be okay all the time."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I'm not okay. I haven't been okay since I found out I was pregnant. I want to be excited about this, I really do, but I can't be excited when I feel this horrible all the time." She paused, her eyes welling up with tears. "I'm so tired, Spencer. I don't even feel like myself anymore. It's like this pregnancy is sucking the life out of me, and I'm only three months in. I don't know how I'm going to handle the next six."

I could feel the helplessness creeping in again, that familiar weight settling in my chest as I watched her struggle. I wanted to make it better for her, to fix it somehow, but I knew there was nothing I could do beyond being there. "You don't have to go through it alone," I said softly. "I'm here with you every step of the way."

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes, her frustration turning to quiet resignation. "I know you are, and I'm grateful for that. I just...I don't know how to cope with this. I thought it would be hard, but I didn't think it would be this bad. The nausea, the headaches, the constant exhaustion—it's like I'm being hit from all sides."

Her hand drifted to her lower back, massaging it absentmindedly as she winced. "And my back has been killing me for the past week. I didn't think I'd have back pain this early. Isn't that supposed to come later when I'm bigger?"

I nodded, trying to offer comfort where I could. "Everyone's different. Some women experience back pain earlier than others. Maybe we can talk to your doctor again, see if there's anything more they can do to help."

Stephie let out a bitter laugh. "I've already called twice. They just keep telling me it's normal, that I'm 'adjusting' to the pregnancy. But this doesn't feel normal. I feel like I'm being punished for something." She paused, biting her lip as another wave of nausea seemed to hit her. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, trying to will it away.

"Do you want me to get you some ginger tea? Maybe it'll help settle your stomach." I offered, even though I knew the answer.

"It doesn't work, Spencer. Nothing works." Her frustration was palpable, and I could see the tears forming in her eyes again. "I've tried the tea, I've tried eating small meals, I've tried crackers, I've tried everything they recommend, and nothing helps. I'm just constantly sick."

I reached for her hand again, squeezing it gently. "I wish I could take this all away for you," I said quietly, feeling the weight of my own helplessness settle in. "I hate seeing you like this."

She looked up at me, her eyes tired and filled with a mix of anger and sadness. "I hate it too. I hate that I'm already this miserable, and I still have so far to go. I don't even know how I'm going to keep working if this keeps up. I can barely get out of bed without feeling like I'm going to pass out."

I could hear the defeat in her voice, the weight of it crushing down on her. I hated that I couldn't fix this for her, that all I could do was sit here and watch her suffer through it. "You don't have to keep pushing yourself," I said softly. "You can take time off if you need to. No one's expecting you to do everything right now."

She shook her head, her frustration boiling over. "But I want to work, Spencer. I don't want to just sit here and be miserable. I want to feel like myself again, but I can't because my body is completely betraying me."

She collapsed back onto the pillows, groaning as she shifted again, trying to find a position that didn't hurt. "I can't even sleep," she muttered, her voice cracking with frustration. "Every time I try, I either have to pee, or I wake up drenched in sweat, or I'm hit with a wave of nausea. I'm lucky if I get two hours a night, and that's if the headache isn't too bad."

I felt my heart break a little more with every word she spoke, seeing just how deeply this was affecting her. "We'll figure it out, Stephie," I said, trying to sound more hopeful than I felt. "We'll keep trying different things until something helps. I'm here for you, every step of the way."

She nodded, but the exhaustion in her eyes didn't fade. "I just want to feel normal again," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don't want to hate this, but I do."

I leaned over, kissing her forehead gently. "You don't have to love every part of this. It's okay to hate it right now. It doesn't make you any less excited for the baby, and it doesn't make you weak. You're strong, Stephie. You'll get through this, and I'll be with you the whole time."

She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks as she rested her head on my shoulder. "I couldn't do this without you," she whispered.

"You won't have to," I promised, holding her close.

One night, after a particularly frustrating day, Stephie was curled up on her side, trying in vain to find a position that didn't make her back throb. I could hear her breathing, shallow and uneven, as she shifted again for what felt like the hundredth time. She pressed her hand against her lower back, her fingers trembling slightly from the tension. Her exhaustion was palpable.

"I can't do this anymore, Spence," she muttered, her voice hoarse. "I can't even lay down without feeling like I'm being crushed."

I sat up beside her, desperate for a way to ease her pain. The helplessness was eating at me. "We'll figure it out," I said, though even I was starting to feel the weight of those words. I didn't know what else to try.

Stephie sighed heavily and leaned back against the headboard, her eyes closing for a moment as if she were hoping sheer willpower could help her sleep. But within minutes, her eyes opened again, a resigned look on her face. "I can't lay like this, and I can't lay flat. I don't know what to do anymore."

In that moment, an idea crossed my mind, one that seemed ridiculous at first. But I was willing to try anything. I shifted around in bed, moving to sit upright against the headboard, my legs stretched out in front of me.

"Stephie," I said gently, touching her arm. "Come here. I think I have an idea."

She looked at me, confused, but too exhausted to protest. "What are you doing?"

"Just trust me," I said softly, patting the space between my legs. "Try sitting here, leaning back against me. Maybe it'll take the pressure off your back."

She hesitated for a moment but then let out a tired sigh, slowly moving to sit between my legs. She settled back against my torso, her head resting just below my collarbone. I could feel her relax slightly as she leaned into me, her body finding some kind of support.

"Like this?" she asked, her voice uncertain but hopeful.

"Yeah," I said, wrapping my arms loosely around her middle. "Just like that."

For a moment, we sat there in silence, neither of us moving. I could feel the tension in her body start to melt away, little by little. Her breathing became steadier, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. I adjusted my arms slightly, pulling her a little closer so she was fully supported against me. She let out a soft sigh, her head tilting back to rest on my shoulder.

"This...feels better," she whispered, almost surprised by the relief. "It's not perfect, but it's better than laying flat."

I nodded, resting my chin gently on top of her head. "Good. Just rest, okay? Don't worry about anything else."

The first night, she only managed an hour or two of sleep like this, but it was something—more than she had gotten in days. I held her as still as I could, trying not to shift too much as she slept against me. It was awkward, and my legs grew stiff after a while, but I didn't care. The relief on her face, even in sleep, was worth any discomfort I felt.

The next night, I tried it again. This time, we got into position earlier, before she had a chance to wear herself out with tossing and turning. She sat between my legs again, her back pressed against my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her. Slowly, her body began to relax, her muscles loosening as she leaned into me.

By the end of the second night, we had found a rhythm. I propped myself up against the headboard, pillows stacked behind me for support, and Stephie would curl up between my legs, her back against my torso. I'd adjust the way I held her depending on what she needed—sometimes I'd keep my arms around her waist, other times I'd rest my hands gently on her shoulders or cradle her stomach.

It took practice—finding just the right way to hold her so she felt secure but not confined. I learned that she liked having my arms across her, lightly holding her belly, especially when the nausea was bad. Other times, she needed the extra pressure on her back, so I'd keep my hands there, gently massaging her lower spine until she relaxed.

Each night, we refined the process a little more. I found that sitting as upright as possible, with Stephie angled slightly so her head rested on my chest, helped take some of the pressure off her lower back. When her nausea spiked, I'd hold her a little tighter, pressing my hand gently against her stomach to help ease the discomfort. It wasn't perfect, but it helped enough that she could drift off, if only for a few hours at a time.

There were still bad nights—nights when her body refused to settle, when she would wake up in the middle of the night and shift in my arms, frustrated and exhausted. But those nights were fewer now. The routine we had built became a lifeline, something she could rely on when everything else felt out of her control.

One evening, as we settled into bed, Stephie leaned back into me with a heavy sigh, her body fitting into mine like we had done this a hundred times. "You know," she murmured, her voice low and sleepy, "this might be the only way I can sleep from now on."

I smiled, tightening my arms around her. "I don't mind," I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "Whatever helps you sleep."

She let out a small, contented hum, her head resting comfortably against my chest. "I feel safe like this," she whispered. "Like you're holding me together."

"I am," I replied softly, my hands tracing gentle patterns on her stomach. "And I will. Every night, if that's what you need."

Her breathing slowed, and soon, she was asleep, her body fully relaxed against mine. I stayed awake for a while longer, listening to the soft rhythm of her breath, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest against me. The tension that had once gripped her so tightly was gone, replaced by a sense of peace I hadn't seen in her for weeks.

It wasn't perfect—there were still difficult nights ahead, I knew. But for now, we had found something that worked.

I knew Stephie was stubborn. It was one of the things I admired most about her—her drive, her refusal to give up even when things were hard. But right now, it was also her worst enemy. She had insisted on going into work at the BAU today, despite everything her body was putting her through. I had tried to convince her to stay home and rest, but as usual, Stephie wasn't having it.

"I'm pregnant, not dying, Spence," she had said, managing a strained smile as she slipped into her jacket, which had already started to feel tight around her. "I can't just sit at home all day."

So here we were, at the BAU, and Stephie was trying her best to act like everything was fine. But it wasn't fine. Not even close.

By mid-morning, it was clear the day was taking a toll on her. She had been pale and quiet since we arrived, and every now and then, I caught her wincing as she shifted in her chair. The nausea hadn't let up—if anything, it had gotten worse since this morning. She was still dealing with constant headaches, her lower back ached from the added strain, and no matter how she sat, nothing seemed to bring her any comfort. I could see her body tense with every little movement, her hand pressing instinctively against her stomach as if trying to keep the discomfort at bay.

I glanced at her from my desk, watching her type away on her computer. She was biting her lip, her eyes slightly unfocused as she stared at the screen. I knew that look—she was pushing herself, trying to stay productive despite feeling absolutely miserable. My heart clenched at the sight.

Hotch had already noticed something was off earlier in the morning when Stephie had excused herself during a team briefing, rushing to the bathroom to deal with another wave of nausea. He didn't say anything, but I could see the concern in his eyes. The team knew she was pregnant, but they didn't know the full extent of how difficult it was for her. And Stephie was determined to keep it that way.

I waited for the briefing to end before approaching her. She was sitting at her desk, rubbing her temples with one hand, the other resting on her belly as she tried to ease the tension. I knelt beside her, lowering my voice so no one else could hear.

"Stephie, maybe you should go home," I whispered. "You don't have to push yourself like this."

She shook her head without even looking at me, her eyes fixed on the screen in front of her. "I'm fine, Spence. It's just a bad day. I can handle it."

I could tell she was struggling. She hadn't been able to keep much food down that morning, and I doubted she had eaten anything since then. Her hand trembled slightly as she moved the mouse, and I saw her wince again when she shifted in her chair, probably trying to get her back to stop aching.

"Stephie," I said softly, "you're not fine. You haven't been fine all morning."

She finally looked at me, her expression weary but determined. "I can't just stay home every time I feel a little sick."

"It's more than just a little sick," I reminded her. "You're exhausted, and you're pushing yourself too hard."

She sighed, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes for a moment. "I know," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But I don't want them to think I can't handle this."

I glanced around, making sure no one else was paying attention. Hotch was in his office, and Emily and Derek were out running an errand for a case. We were alone for the moment, but that could change any second.

"Nobody thinks that," I assured her. "You're pregnant, Stephie. You're allowed to have bad days. You don't have to prove anything to anyone."

She opened her eyes and gave me a small, tired smile. "I know that logically, but it still feels like I'm not doing enough. I hate feeling like this."

I could hear the frustration in her voice, the way it cracked slightly as she spoke. She was used to being strong, used to being the one who could push through anything. But pregnancy was different. Her body wasn't giving her a choice—it was demanding that she slow down, whether she liked it or not.

Just then, a fresh wave of nausea hit her. I could see it in the way her face paled even more, her hand instinctively flying to her mouth. She stood up quickly, muttering, "I'll be right back," before rushing out of the bullpen toward the bathroom.

I followed her as quickly as I could, my heart racing with worry. By the time I reached the bathroom, I could hear her retching inside, and it made me feel utterly helpless. I stood by the door, my hand resting against it, waiting for her to come out. After a few minutes, she finally emerged, looking even more drained than before.

She leaned heavily against the wall, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes were glassy with exhaustion, and she didn't even have the energy to speak at first.

"I'm taking you home," I said firmly, stepping forward to gently touch her arm. "No arguments."

Stephie opened her mouth to protest, but when she saw the look on my face, she closed it again, too tired to argue. She simply nodded, looking defeated. "Yeah, okay," she whispered, her voice weak. "Maybe that's a good idea."

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders as we walked toward the elevator. She leaned into me, her body heavy with fatigue, and I could feel how much she was struggling just to keep moving.

As we rode the elevator down, she sighed softly, her head resting against my shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I frowned, looking down at her. "Sorry for what?"

"For being like this," she said. "Being stubborn."

I shook my head, tightening my grip on her. "Stephie, you're growing a human being. Your body is working overtime. You just need to learn how to rest."

She didn't respond, but I could see the tension in her face start to ease slightly. When we finally reached the parking lot, I helped her into the car, and for the first time that day, she leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes and letting out a deep breath.

As I helped Stephie up the stairs, I could feel how much this was taking out of her. She leaned against me more than usual, each step feeling like a small battle. My hand rested on her back, trying to support her without overwhelming her. I hated seeing her like this—pale, exhausted, just... worn down.

When we finally reached the door, I opened it quickly and guided her inside. She didn't say anything, but I could see it in her eyes—she was too tired to fight how miserable she felt. I led her over to the couch, carefully lowering her onto the cushions, like she might break if I wasn't gentle enough.

"You okay?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.

She gave a small nod, but I could tell it was more for my benefit than anything. I grabbed a blanket and tucked it around her, then ran my hand through her hair, hoping it brought her some comfort. I hated that I couldn't fix this.

"Do you need anything before I go back to the office?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment. "Just go. I'll be fine," she murmured, but I didn't miss the exhaustion in her voice. She was anything but fine.

I stood there for a second, just watching her, trying to decide if I should really leave. But she gave me that look, the one that said she'd be even more upset if I hovered.

"I'll be back soon. Call me if you need anything," I said softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. She barely stirred, already sinking into the cushions.

I forced myself to leave, my stomach twisting as I walked out the door. I hated going back to work, knowing she was like this. The pregnancy was hitting her hard—harder than either of us had expected. Every symptom in the book seemed to have found her, and it was like her body couldn't catch a break.

By the time I got to the BAU, I was still lost in thought. I made it through the elevator ride and into the bullpen without even realizing it, until I noticed Hotch watching me as I dropped my bag by my desk. The rest of the team wasn't far behind, their eyes following me, waiting for something.

"Where's Stephie?" JJ asked first, a hint of concern in her voice.

I took a deep breath, running a hand through my hair as I sat down. "She's... she's at home. The pregnancy is really hitting her hard."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them. I hadn't meant to say that much, but the weight of it had been sitting on my chest for weeks now. And as much as I tried to keep it all in, it felt like the dam had finally broken. "It's just... everything is hitting her at once. She's exhausted, nauseous, in pain—it's all so much worse than we thought it would be."

The room fell quiet for a moment, the team's expressions shifting to concern and understanding.

I sat there, feeling the weight of the words I'd just let out. For weeks, I'd been carrying this around, not wanting to worry anyone. Stephie and I were supposed to handle this on our own. But I could see the worry in their eyes now—the way they shifted, trying to figure out what to say.

JJ was the first to speak, her voice soft but steady. "Spence, I know this is hard. I remember how tired I was with Henry, but... it sounds like Stephie's going through a lot more." She glanced down, her hand resting on her stomach, maybe recalling her own pregnancy. "I was lucky; I didn't get hit with all the symptoms the way she is. But I know how overwhelming it can feel when it's all at once. You're there for her, and that means everything."

I appreciated her words, but I couldn't help the frustration that bubbled up inside. JJ's pregnancy had seemed so easy in comparison. I remember how she'd been glowing, still managing to work through most of it, even when she was tired. But Stephie... Stephie was barely getting through the day, and I felt helpless just watching her struggle.

"It's not like that for her, JJ," I said, my voice a little sharper than I intended. I took a breath, rubbing my hands over my face before continuing. "She's not just tired. It's everything—she's nauseous all the time, even when she's not throwing up. Her back hurts, her head hurts, she can't sleep... She can't even eat without feeling worse. I can see how hard she's trying to stay positive, but it's like her body is fighting her every step of the way."

JJ nodded, her face sympathetic but unsure. She wanted to help, but I could tell she didn't fully understand. I didn't expect her to, though. This pregnancy was different. I hadn't seen it hit anyone like this before, and I was terrified of what it was doing to Stephie.

Emily leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her eyes narrowing slightly like she was deep in thought. "Have you guys talked to the doctor about it? Is there anything they can do to make her more comfortable?"

"We've been to the doctor a few times already," I replied, sighing. "They said some people just have rough pregnancies. And unless something changes, there's not much more they can do beyond what they've already suggested. They said she's not in danger, and the baby's fine, but... I don't know how much more she can take. Every time I leave her at home, I feel like I'm abandoning her."

Derek frowned, leaning forward slightly. "You're not abandoning her, Spencer. You're doing what you need to do for both of you. It's hard, but you're still there for her. She knows that."

I nodded, though the knot in my stomach didn't ease. "I just feel so powerless. She's going through all of this, and all I can do is sit there and watch. I bring her food, help her around the house, but... she's still hurting."

Hotch, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. "Pregnancy can be unpredictable. Sometimes it takes a toll that no one can anticipate. But what you're doing—being there for her, taking care of her—it's exactly what she needs right now. It may not feel like enough, but it is. You're supporting her in the ways that matter most."

His words were calm, reassuring, but I still couldn't shake the guilt I felt. It wasn't just that I couldn't fix it—it was knowing how much Stephie had already been through, and now this. She'd lost so much, and the thought of her struggling with this pregnancy just felt... unfair.

I shifted in my seat, my mind racing as I tried to explain more. "It's not just the physical stuff, either. I think it's really affecting her emotionally, too. She's been so strong through everything—everything we've been through—but I can see it wearing her down. She tries to hide it, but she's not the same. Sometimes she just stares off, like she's not really there, and when I ask her what's wrong, she just says she's fine. But I know she's not."

There was a heavy silence for a moment. JJ's eyes softened even more, and I knew she understood, at least to some degree, how emotionally exhausting it could be.

"You know," JJ began carefully, "pregnancy... it can mess with your emotions in ways you don't expect. Hormones, anxiety—it all builds up. And when you add in everything else she's been through, it's bound to take a toll. But, Spencer, she's lucky to have you there, even if it doesn't feel like it. Just being with her, reminding her she's not alone, that's more than you realize."

I nodded slowly, letting her words sink in. I knew she was right. It's just... Stephie wasn't someone who liked to ask for help, and now she was dealing with something she couldn't control. Watching her struggle was like watching the strongest person I knew break down piece by piece, and it terrified me.

"I just want her to know I'm here," I said quietly. "But I don't know if she feels like I am. She tries so hard to pretend everything's fine, and I don't want to push her... but I also don't want her to think she has to go through this alone."

Emily's voice cut in softly. "You've been through so much together already. She knows you're there for her. She might not always say it, but she knows."

I swallowed hard, fighting the lump in my throat. "I hope so."

The team sat with me in the silence that followed, each of them offering their support in their own quiet ways. They couldn't fix it any more than I could, but at least they understood now. At least I wasn't carrying it alone.

"I think she'll be okay," JJ added gently. "It's hard now, but you guys are strong. You'll get through this."

I nodded, grateful for her optimism, but still uncertain. Because I knew this wasn't something we could just power through like a case at work. This was real life, and it was unpredictable and messy, and no amount of logic or planning could change that.

But if Stephie could hold on, I'd hold on with her. Because that's what we did. We held on, no matter how hard it got.

Finally the doctors office called me back, i've been trying to schedule an appointment for days. They just kept pushing it all off saying it was normal but I know this is not normal.

"We're almost there," I said softly, trying to reassure her, though I wasn't sure if she heard me. She didn't respond, just kept her eyes shut, breathing slow and shallow.

I hated how helpless I felt. All I wanted was to fix it, to take away her discomfort, but I couldn't. Every day it seemed like something new was hitting her—nausea, exhaustion, back pain, headaches, you name it. Nothing seemed to make it better. I just wanted answers, something concrete we could do. Anything.

When we pulled into the parking lot, I reached over and squeezed her hand gently. "We'll figure this out," I whispered, more for myself than for her.

Inside the doctor's office, I stayed close to her, holding her hand as we waited for the results of the latest round of tests. The doctor had been concerned about how severe her symptoms were, especially since it seemed like every pregnancy symptom in the book had hit her tenfold. The exhaustion alone had gotten to the point where some days, Stephie could barely get out of bed. I'd done everything I could at home, but I knew she needed more than my reassurance.

The doctor finally came back, holding a chart and looking serious. My heart skipped a beat. Stephie sat up a little, wincing as she adjusted herself in the chair.

"We've run a few more tests to see what might be contributing to these more intense symptoms," the doctor began, her voice calm but direct. "There are a couple of things going on here that we need to address. First, we've found that you're experiencing a condition called hyperemesis gravidarum. It's essentially extreme, prolonged nausea and vomiting, which is why you've been feeling so sick and unable to keep food down."

I felt Stephie's grip tighten on my hand, and I squeezed back, hoping she could feel how much I was here for her.

The doctor continued, "This can lead to severe dehydration and fatigue, which is likely contributing to your overall exhaustion. But we've also noticed that your iron levels are quite low, meaning you're also dealing with anemia. That can explain some of the dizziness and weakness you've been experiencing."

Stephie let out a shaky breath, and I could see the weariness in her eyes. She'd known something was wrong, but hearing the confirmation made it more real. I rubbed her back gently as the doctor kept talking.

"We're going to start by getting you on some IV fluids and anti-nausea medication to help with the dehydration and nausea. We'll also give you an iron supplement to manage the anemia. You're likely going to need more frequent check-ups going forward, just to keep an eye on things and make sure you and the baby are both staying healthy."

I nodded, trying to absorb everything. "So, will this help her feel better soon?" I asked, my voice a little more desperate than I wanted it to be.

The doctor smiled kindly. "It should help quite a bit. The anti-nausea meds will ease a lot of the vomiting, and the fluids will help her energy levels. But it might take some time before she feels completely back to normal. This type of pregnancy is tough, but with the right management, we can keep both of you healthy."

I looked over at Stephie, who was blinking back tears. I hated seeing her like this—so vulnerable and tired—but I knew she was strong. She had always been strong, even when she didn't feel like it.

"Thank you," I said to the doctor before turning back to Stephie. "We'll get through this."

She nodded, resting her head on my shoulder. "I know," she whispered, but there was a heaviness in her voice.

We stayed there for a few moments, just breathing together. I promised myself I'd do everything I could to make this easier for her. Whatever it took—late-night runs to the pharmacy, holding her through more sleepless nights—I was in it with her.

I'd always known this pregnancy would be a challenge, but hearing it confirmed by the doctor made it sink in even deeper. This wasn't going to be easy for her, but we had a plan now. And that was something.

After the appointment, as I helped Stephie back into the car, I felt a small sense of relief. We had a diagnosis, and we had a path forward. It wasn't going to fix everything overnight, but at least we knew what we were dealing with.

As we drove home, I kept glancing over at her, knowing I'd do anything to make this better for her. I was in awe of her strength.

Once we got all her medicine, and all her levelsunder control again, slowly the symptoms started to decrease, they became more manageable. The pain lessened, she was sleeping more, she had an appetite, and the nausea finally disappeared.

We were getting to a point where Stephie could enjoy her pregnancy. Now I just had to hope everything else would stay smooth, I just couldn't push this gut feeling back that this wasn't over. That something else was creeping in on us.

————————AN: I wonder if that something else starts with a C and ends with a T?

Cat???