Rocking even more violently, I hurled myself with all the force of my weight one final time, rolling off the bed and onto the floor, landing with a loud thump.

I had been freed.

Sitting upright I scanned the room, but the figure was gone. A throbbing pain in my stomach was all that remained.

I heard Jack shuffle from the couch in the living room. He moved swiftly down the hallway and entered our bedroom, crouching to help me up. Fully dressed in jeans, shirt, and socks, his face showed no indication that he had been asleep. There was no yellow crust in his eyes, no puffiness to his cheeks or lips. His hair was neat, the curls undisturbed.

“Are you okay?” Jack grabbed my forearm, clutching tightly as he guided me to a standing position.

“Where were you?”

“I got home late so I slept on the couch.”

“That makes no sense.” I shook my arm free from his grasp. He knew I hated when he slept on the couch. “Why would you sleep on the couch instead of with your pregnant girlfriend?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you,” he explained. “Are you okay? Should we take you to the doctor to make sure the baby is okay?”

“I’m fine.” I exhaled, moving toward the kitchen. Jack followed. The room smelled of Jack, musky and like fallen pine needles, but there was something I couldn’t quite place. A faint element of coconut or something creamy and white.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“No.” I stood on my tippytoes to open the cupboard, shifting through boxes of dried pasta and cans of beans. “I just want coffee. I’ve got a splitting headache.”

“Sit down, I’ll make it for you.” Jack pulled a wooden chair out from the table, motioning for me to sit.

Reluctantly, I looked at him before taking a seat. “Where were you last night?” The wildflowers in the vase on the table had dried up, their colours nearly faded. I began picking at the petals, letting them fall. The sun was beginning to come up, and the window facing the backyard was lit like cotton candy that had been left out in the rain.

Jack grabbed the mustard-coloured kettle and held it beneath the tap. “I told you, I went to that gallery opening. The one uptown.”

I shook my head. “You never told me that.”

Jack set the kettle on the stove and turned the burner on max. He walked to the fridge and grabbed a carton of eggs from the top shelf.

I clasped my hands together and laid my chin on top of them, waiting for a response.

Jack bent to retrieve the cast iron pan from the cupboard and placed it on the burner. He set it to medium heat and cracked two eggs.

My head was ticking like a metronome. I could sense the extra heartbeat inside me. “Jack, did you hear me?”

“Sweetie, what did we talk about?”