Instead, he imagined the boy’s features. He predicted that his son would be an equal split between himself and his wife (I hope he gets her nose).
A part of him mourned that in a few years time, he wouldn’t be able to play Basketball with the same vigor he would have had 10 years ago, (I’ll be 50 by the time he’s 10). After years of trying and failing to have a kid with Marigold, he never thought he would get her pregnant at the age of 39.
He turned again and saw that she was still probing her stomach. She offered a weak smile and stood up. “I’m going to lie down. Please check the stove.”
She went down the hallway to the bathroom and closed the door. In seconds, he heard a flush followed by the sound of her brushing her teeth.
He put the last of the cups in the tray, and lifted the stove top to see if the pilot lights were still on. He observed two flickering, blue lights. He lowered the lid, pressed the refrigerator door tight to make sure it was closed, and then heard his wife amble to their bedroom. She closed the door behind her.
Haunt followed suit. He turned off the lights in the kitchen and living room, and padded the wall as he went to the bathroom. He closed the door and did his business. Moments later, he went to the bedroom
Once in bed, he spooned his wife. She guided his hand to her stomach.
“Did he—” He asked.
“Shh,” she said.
In seconds, he felt a slight kick.
With a squeeze, he kissed her hair and she rubbed her bare foot against his leg. They soon fell asleep. In Haunt’s chest, he felt a tingle of heartburn.
Clean Hands (The Womb Book 1) Page 3
