What Love Has Made of Me

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Thanks to all the reviewers and readers for your continued support.

The next morning I rang Amy and asked if I could come and stay with her for a while. She knows enough about my and James' acrid relationship not to ask questions. I barely made it off the phone without bursting into tears. Once I hung up though, the tears began to flow. I headed upstairs to pack my bags, trying to ignore James' side of the closet. Even the sight of his dirty t-shirt lying on the floor, just inches from the hamper, was enough to get me going. Before I left, I wrote James a brief note and left it lying on the kitchen countertop. He'd have to come home eventually.

Dearest James,

I am truly sorry for my behavior. I hope that someday you will be able to forgive me, although I realize that I am undeserving of your forgiveness. I do love you, very much. I wish I could tell you where and why everything went so wrong, but there is no way to rationalize my actions, and I wouldn't dare insult you by trying to justify something that has no valid defense. Therefore, all I can offer you is my love and an apology, both of which are woefully inadequate in light of my behavior. I am so sorry, James.

Love always,
Jules

PS – I've gone to stay with Amy for a while. It hurts too much to stay here without you. You've got her number.

I looked forlornly around the kitchen one last time before stepping out into the garage. Minutes later, I was headed down the highway, with too many tears in my eyes to make out Plainsboro as it faded in my rearview mirror.

I reached Amy's twenty minutes later. She greeted me on the front door stoop, and I fell into her arms, sobbing. She led me inside and we sat on the couch, where I sobbed into her shoulder while she rubbed my back and made comforting noises. Finally, I was able to start talking, although I had to stop several times to cry some more. Amy said nothing during the two hours that it took me to tell my story.

I stayed at Amy's that week, unsuccessfully forcing myself to forget that my four year anniversary was the next Monday and about the trip that James had planned. I spent Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday in bed, too depressed to do much else other than watch TV and sleep. On Thursday, the greasy feel of my matted hair was getting to me, so I crawled out of bed and into the shower. I turned the water up almost to scalding, then sank to the floor of the tub and allowed the steaming water to beat on my back while I cried. Thirty minutes later, I crawled back out of the shower, having exhausted both the hot water and my tears. I rummaged through the guest bath drawers, and finally managed to find some toothpaste and a spare toothbrush. Satisfied that I had fulfilled the basic requirements of human hygiene, I crawled back into bed, expecting to fall asleep.

For some reason though, my mind wouldn't rest. Something was bothering me, but I couldn't figure it out. Something during my shower had triggered a faint memory, and I just knew that I was overlooking something huge. I fretted over this lost memory for the next hour, until my weary mind gave out on me. I was closer to sleep than awake when I shot straight up in bed, having just remembered what I had forgotten.

"Oh God," I moaned as I buried my face in my hands, "This can not be happening." My quest for toothpaste had led me through most of the drawers under Amy's sink, where I had finally found it behind a huge multi-pack of tampons. I realized then what had been bothering me. I was two weeks late.

"Amy!" I screeched as I raced down the stairs wearing nothing more than a ragged t-shirt. "Amy!"

Amy met me in the doorway to the kitchen, a concerned look on her face. "What's the matter, Julie?" she asked, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

"I think I'm pregnant," I muttered before bursting into tears again.

"Oh Julie," Amy whispered as she reached out to hug me.

An hour later we were sitting on the rim of her tub, staring at an unopened pregnancy test kit procured during a quick run to the drug store.

"How could I be so careless?" I ask Amy as I stare at the box, willing it and my problems to disappear.

"Julie..." Amy chides. "Nothing's certain yet." She offers me one last clutch at hope, but I watch it go by me and refuse to grab on.

I slowly open the box, hesitantly, as if expecting a monster to spring out from within.

"You don't have to do this now, Julie," Amy tries again to comfort me, although I know I won't rest until I have an answer.

I rip the foil casing off one of the sticks and stare at it, watching as the indicator box, empty of lines for the moment, mocks me.

"Aren't you supposed to wait until morning to do this?" Amy grabs the box out of my hand and buries herself in the directions. I suddenly sense her fear, and my stomach churns.

"I already opened it," I say lazily. I stand up and fiddle with my belt. It's hard to loosen the buckle without dropping the testing stick. Amy stands as well.

"Let me know if you need me," she says, exiting the bathroom and closing the door behind me.

Without her, I feel suffocated in this small enclosed space. I suddenly panic, and can't get this over fast enough.

Five minutes later, Amy and I are once again perched on the tub rim, staring at the stick. Suddenly, I throw the stick across the room in a burst of anger. "Damnit!" I yell before running out of the room.

Amy catches up with me a few seconds later. I am thumbing rapidly through my day planner. I look up at her, tears brimming in my eyes. "I don't know whose it is," I confess. Amy gently pulls the day planner out of my hands and sets it aside as I collapse into her arms.

"What am I going to tell James?" I wail. "It's too early to do a paternity test."

"How soon could you find out?" Amy asks.

I take a deep breath in and look up from her shoulder. "Twelve weeks at the very earliest, I think. I guess I could hide it from him that long, assuming we're still talking. Yeah, I think that would work." I'm grasping at a straw, but I am so desperate for an answer that any solution sounds viable. "On the other hand, if it is his, he'll never forgive me for keeping it from him." My face crumples as I watch my plan dissolve. "What am I thinking? He's not going to forgive me either way. I'm going to end up raising this baby alone."

"Julie," Amy says sternly, grasping me by the shoulders. "You've been through a lot this week and don't need to be making any decisions right now. Give yourself a few days to calm down so you can think about the situation more clearly."

"It's not going to go away, Amy," I snap, spinning away from her and flopping down on the couch. "I can't just ignore this."

"Julie," Amy says, softer this time, as she sits next to me and takes my hand in hers. "I'm not saying that you need to ignore it. You just need to give yourself some time to digest all this information." She smoothes my hair down and tucks it behind my ear. "A few days isn't going to change things one way or another."

"I guess," I sigh, not at all convinced. "Ame?" I ask. "What am I going to do if it's Stan's?"

"That's something you're going to have to work out with him and James. But you know I'll support you no matter what, as long as you're happy."

"Amy," I continue, too worked up to rest, "Do you think I'm a terrible person?"

Amy looks at me, exasperated, and rolls her eyes. "Don't be silly, Julie," she says, swatting my arm lightly. "But seriously," she continues when she sees my face fill with doubt and self-loathing, "I don't think that you're a bad person. You've just made some bad decisions, that's all. There's no use in crying over spilled milk, or judging the person who spilt it, but that doesn't mean that cleaning it up off the floor is going to be a pleasant process."

Amy brings me a hot cup of tea then, and we sit in comfortable silence while I drink it. The warmth from the tea makes me sleepy, and I slouch down even further into the couch before falling asleep.

I woke up later that evening, feeling much better after my nap. I even forgot about my predicament for a few seconds. But reality quickly crashed down around me before I'd even rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and it was only through shear willpower that I kept myself from crying.

Amy had fixed dinner by that time, and we sat on the couch, slurping spaghetti off our plates while watching TV. I was even beginning to get the tiniest bit excited at the prospect of having a baby, although every time my enthusiasm tried to bubble up, concerns over the paternity of the child squelched it.

I woke up the next morning, determined to do at least one useful thing that week. Amy and I spent the morning out in her garden, digging merrily in the dirt as we plucked weeds and coddled fledgling vegetables. Neither James nor Stan nor the baby came up that morning. Looking back, I remember how good it felt to have the warm spring sun beat down on my back and to feel the moist dirt between my fingers.

"Well I'm pooped," Amy announced after we'd been out there for several hours. "Are you ready for lunch?"

"I'm starving," I confessed. "When do you think I'll start craving weird foods?"

"Hopefully not today," Amy said, laughing as she stood and offered her hands to me. "Because pickles and ice cream are definitely not on the menu." I laughed as she pulled me up.

"Ow," I said, grasping my side as I finished straightening up.

Amy's smile melted away. "What's wrong, Julie?" she asked.

"Nothing," I lied, waving her away. "Just a cramp from being on my hands and knees all morning. I just need to give it a minute to work itself out."

Amy looked at me skeptically. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Positive," I lied again. But the pain wasn't getting better; it was getting worse. Please God, don't put me through a miscarriage as well. But even as I prayed, I knew that something was really wrong. I tried to take a few steps, only to see spots appear in my eyes.

Amy grabbed my good side to steady me. "Let's get you inside. I'm going to call my OB."

"It's really nothing, Amy," I feebly protested.

Somehow we made it inside, and I collapsed on the sofa. Amy hustled off to the kitchen and got her OB's office on the phone. I heard her pause, mumble, pause again and then mumble some more before hanging up the phone. She marched back in, a determined look in her eyes.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," she declared.

As much as I didn't want to go, I knew Amy was right. Amy somehow guided me to her car, where I passed out in her back seat before we even made it out of the driveway.

Weeks later, Amy told me that I'd mumbled incoherently to myself during the entire ride to the hospital. At one point I sat up, realized that we were headed to PPTH and almost made her run off the road. I was frantic.

"You can't take me to PPTH," I yelled. I was spiking a fever at this point, and my face was pasty white. "The whole hospital will know."

"It's the closest hospital, Julie," Amy said. She didn't want to take me there either, but she was too worried to risk driving onto Princeton General. Besides that, she had a sneaking suspicion that when James found out that I was in the hospital, he'd go ballistic if I was anywhere other than PPTH.

I remember strong arms pulling me out of the car at the hospital and placing me on a stretcher. "Do not tell James, Amy," I begged as they wheeled me into the ER. "I don't want him to know."

"You either!" I said, squirming around to yell at the poor guy pushing the gurney. "I know my rights! HIPPA applies to me too!" He nodded and smiled reassuringly, then turned and whispered "lorazepam" to the nurse following behind him.

I'd almost made it into the safety of my exam room without being recognized when we passed none other than Allison Cameron. She was talking to an attractive man in scrubs, who was grinning back at her. "Julie Wilson?" she asked in disbelief, leaving her companion behind to follow alongside my gurney.

I groaned. My first and last name, no less. She continued to follow behind us, and once the nurse had me settled in the room, she rushed up to my bed. "Julie! What happened?"

"Just some stomach cramping," I said, trying to smile. Cameron gave me the same doubtful look Amy had given me earlier. At that moment, the nurse walked back in. "We'll have the ultrasound machine in here in a few minutes. I don't mean to upset you, but we think it's probably an ectopic pregnancy."

I closed my eyes, trying to keep the silent tears behind my lids, but they rolled down my face anyway.

"I'm so sorry, Julie," Cameron said, taking my hand in hers. "Do you want me to go get James? I saw him not ten minutes ago, heading for his office. We didn't even know you were pregnant." There was no judgment in Cameron's eyes. Was it possible that my notorious gossip of a husband had managed to keep a lid on my affair? I sighed.

"No James," I whispered. "Please Cameron, I don't want him to know about this."

"You need your husband with you, Julie," she pressed. "You shouldn't have to go through this alone."

"He doesn't know," I told Cameron, hoping she'd get the hint.

She frowned briefly. "He doesn't know you're pregnant?" she asked.

To hell with it, I thought. Anything to get her out of the room. "I just found out yesterday, Cameron. But I don't want James to know because I don't know if it's his child."

"Oh," she said softly, her face remaining surprisingly neutral. "Okay. I'll get them to put a fake name on your chart. That's your only hope for remaining anonymous, but I have a feeling either way it won't last long."

"Thank you," I said, surprised at her generosity. She turned to go. "Cameron?" I asked. I couldn't believe what I was about to do, but I had to know. "I know I'm not going to be able to keep this child. But – if - is there anyway that you could…."

I'd meant to ask her if she could run a DNA test on my child, because I knew it was only a matter of time before James found me here. I didn't get to finish my question though, because right then my fallopian tube ruptured, and I went into shock.

TBC…