I wait another half hour before limping my way to William’s room, where I wake him first. “William, honey, I need your help. I’m sick, and I’m going to go to the doctor soon, but until I go I need to stay in bed.”

William’s immediately sitting up, eyes wide, serious. “Should I call Dad?”

“No! No. Just help me get Jessica up and ready for camp. Help her with her cereal, and make sure she has her backpack with her swimsuit and tennis racket when you leave for the club. I’m going to go downstairs and lie on the couch, but I really need you to help me so I don’t have to go up and down the stairs more than I have to.”

“Okay.” He’s out of bed and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. “I’ll get Jessica up. I’ll make her breakfast. You lie down, Mom.”

I go to my bathroom, check my underwear. Still bleeding. Change the toilet paper and go downstairs, where I lie—on my left side—on the family room couch so I can watch William and Jessica have breakfast.

Jessica comes over to me, and she’s wearing her new favorites, green cargo short-shorts with a pink-and-green Barbie T-shirt. “Mommy?” she says, bending over to look me in the face. She puts her hand on my forehead as if I have a fever. “Mommy, are you going to be okay?”

“Yes.” I take her hand, kiss it. “I’m fine. I just can’t walk around too much right now. But I’m fine. I promise.”

Her blond eyebrows furrow. “William said you might have to go to the hospital.”

“I might. Just to be safe.”

“Should we call a taxi?”

I almost laugh. “No, we don’t need a taxi. I’ll call Anne or Kristine and see if they can take me, and if they can’t, I can drive myself.”

She leaves me to climb up on the kitchen counter to grab the downstairs phone. Jessica hands the phone back to me. “Call Anne now.”

“Jess—”

“I won’t go to summer camp until you call.”

I smile faintly. Jessica can be a pain in the ass, but she’s so damn smart sometimes that it’s scary. I dial Anne’s number, and her voice mail comes on. I leave a message, ask her to call me, and hang up. “There,” I say to Jessica, “phone call made. Now get your backpack and meet your van.”

My smile disappears as the children walk out the door for the van that picks them up every morning for their summer camp.

I can’t lose the baby. I won’t lose the baby. Please God, don’t let me lose the baby.