“I’m carrying two babies,” I said. “And I haven’t had anything since dinner.”
“You ate a banana,” Briggs said, rolling his eyes.
“Stop acting like a drama queen. You’re pregnant. That doesn’t make you special.”
I looked out the window, blinking hard.
My hands were shaking.
“Can we just stop somewhere?” I asked again. “I feel dizzy.”
He sighed, like I’d asked for something extravagant. Eventually, he pulled into a roadside diner — the kind with foggy windows, laminated menus, and booths that stuck to your legs in summer.
I didn’t care.
My legs ached, my stomach turned, and I just needed to sit down and stay upright.
I slid into a booth and tried to catch my breath.
For a moment, I closed my eyes and pictured what I wanted more than anything: Mia and Maya, asleep in matching onesies, their tiny bellies rising and falling.
The names had started whispering to me lately.
Maybe because they sounded soft… or maybe because they sounded like freedom.
A waitress came over — she was in her forties, maybe, with a tired smile and a bun that was half undone. Her name tag read Dottie.
Before she could say anything, Briggs grunted.
I didn’t react to him.
I just opened the menu and scanned for protein, finally deciding on a Cobb salad. It was $5. That was it.
Surely, Briggs wouldn’t have an issue with that?
“I’ll have the Cobb salad, please, Dottie,” I said quietly.
“A salad?” Briggs said, barking a loud laugh.
“It must be nice, huh, Rae? Spending money that you didn’t earn.”
I stared at the table, cheeks flushing.
“It’s just $5,” I said, trying to stay calm for the babies. “I need to eat.
The babies need me to eat for them.”
“Five dollars adds up,” he muttered. “Especially when you’re not the one working.”
A table nearby went quiet. A gray-haired couple in the next booth looked over.
The woman’s mouth tightened like she’d swallowed something bitter.
“You want some crackers while you wait, sweetheart?” Dottie asked, her voice low and kind.
“I’m okay,” I said, shaking my head. “Thank you.”
“No, honey. You’re shaking.
That happens to me when my blood sugar levels are low. You need to eat.”
She left before I could argue. I pressed my hand to my belly, imagining the babies hearing everything.
I wished I could shield them from the world. I wished I could keep them from ever hearing their father’s taunts.
I wished I could do better… for them.
When Dottie came back, she set down a glass of iced tea and a little bowl of crackers on a napkin.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Is everyone in this town trying to be a hero today?” Briggs said.
Dottie didn’t break stride.
She just looked straight at him and raised her eyebrows.
“I’m not trying to be anything. I’m just being a woman who’s reaching out to someone who is struggling.”
When the salad came, there was grilled chicken on top. I hadn’t asked for it.
“That part’s on me,” Dottie said, leaning in gently.
“Don’t argue, missy. I’ve… been you.”
I wanted to cry, but I didn’t.
Instead, I ate, slowly and gratefully.
Briggs barely touched his burger. When I was done, he threw notes onto the table and stormed out first.
“Charity is embarrassing,” he snapped the moment we got into the car.
“I didn’t ask for anything.”
“No, you just sat there and let people pity you, Rae. Do you know how that makes me feel?!
Do you know how that makes me look? You embarrassed me yet again.”
He didn’t say another word. And for once, neither did I.
That night, he came home late from a client meeting.
There was no loud entrance or smug grin.
There was just the rattle of keys on the kitchen table and the quiet slump of a man whose armor had cracked.
I stood in the hallway, watching him. He hadn’t even taken off his shoes. Instead, his head hung low, elbows on his knees, like he was waiting for bad news to stop echoing.
“Long day?” I asked gently.
“Can I make you something for dinner?”
“Don’t start, Rae,” he said, not looking at me.
He rubbed his jaw, like the question annoyed him more than the answer.
“Nothing. People are just… annoying.
And dramatic.”
I waited, letting the silence press in.
“That diner lady knows somebody,” he muttered. “My boss called me in. The client requested I don’t come to meetings anymore.”
He glanced away.
My heart didn’t race.
My stomach didn’t drop. There was no dramatic swell of satisfaction. Just…
a small exhale.
“Can you believe that?” he said, half-laughing. “Over nothing!”
“Nothing? Really?” I asked, tilting my head.
I stepped further into the room.
“Or maybe people are finally watching.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at me.
“It means that maybe someone finally saw the version of you I live with.”
He didn’t respond.
He just got up, slow and stiff, and walked upstairs without another word.
I didn’t follow him. Instead, I curled onto the couch, tucked a throw blanket around me, and rested a hand on my belly.
“Mia and Maya,” I whispered. “You’ll never have to earn kindness, my babies.
Not from me. Not from anyone.”
I let my eyes close and pictured it again — the soft cheeks, the matching socks, and the tiny fingers curled around mine. The names had lived inside me for weeks, but saying them out loud felt like lighting a match.
It was the first warmth I’d felt in a long time.
The next few days, Briggs avoided me as much as he could.
He paced the kitchen, snapped at emails, and cursed under his breath about “ungrateful people.” He never said Dottie’s name again.
He never mentioned the salad, or the iced tea, or the moment someone dared to treat me with decency.
But I remembered it all.
And I thought about Dottie all the time. Because she saw me… before I remembered how to see myself.
In the days that followed, I started emailing old friends.
I searched for prenatal clinics with the best reviews — where I wouldn’t feel like a burden. I took more walks, forcing myself into movement.
“It’s all for you, babies,” I said to my stomach. I moved slower, sure, but I still moved.
And of course, Briggs didn’t notice.
Or maybe he didn’t care.
Maybe he thought I’d always be too tired to leave.
One morning, after he slammed the door on his way out, I grabbed my keys. I drove until I saw it — the same foggy-windowed diner with the red door and chipped paint.
Dottie was behind the counter. Her face lit up when she saw me.
“You came back,” she said, removing her apron.
“Sit down, sweetheart. I’m taking my break.”
She brought hot chocolate first, then a plate of fries, and then a thick slice of pecan pie.
“These are all the things I’ve been craving,” I smiled.
“Honey, I know. I’ve had my fair share of this life…
and I’ve had my fair share of cravings. The cravings are universal, trust me —”
“I keep thinking… maybe he’ll change,” I said, looking down at my hands.
“You can’t build a life on maybe,” Dottie said softly, shaking her head.
“Not with a baby on the way.”
“Babies,” I corrected her. “Twins. Girls.”
She reached across the table, and my eyes stung at her touch.
I let the words sit with me.
I let them soak into the part of me still afraid to want more.
“You don’t need a perfect man,” she said gently. “You need peace. You need softness.
You need a home that feels safe. And until you find that, it’s better to walk alone.”
I nodded. This was a promise to myself that I hadn’t made in a long time.
When I stood to leave, Dottie walked me to the door and pressed a small paper bag into my hand.
“Refill on the fries,” she said with a wink.
“And a warm place, if you ever need one. My number is in there, too. Call me anytime, sweetheart.”
“For what?”
“For seeing me.”
She smiled at me with more warmth than I’d felt in years.
Outside, the cold hit my cheeks, and I didn’t flinch.
I sat in my car and opened my phone.
Booked a prenatal appointment for Friday. Rideshare confirmed.
Then I texted Briggs:
“You don’t shame me for eating again. Ever.
I’m going to move back home to my sister. I can’t focus on my own health and my pregnancy, if you’re around.”
My hand went to my belly.
“Mia. Maya,” I whispered.
“We’re done shrinking.”
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