Rightfully His

36.

All rights reserved...@brightlights101

All the color from Matteo's face drained away. He was a ghost of a shell. Andrea didn't think she'd ever see Matteo scared, at least not like earlier.

"This is horrible timing," he blurts out.

Wanting to shoot back a condescending comment, she knew it wouldn't serve the situation any good.

"We need to go to the hospital. Your cuts need to be treated. Nothing here is sanitized," he goes on a tangent.

Andrea walks on the heels of her feet, making an attempt to the living room - the only place that wasn't destroyed.

"Where are you going? Let me pull the car around-"

"Matteo, I am in pain, deeply traumatized and emotional," she says honestly. "This is the first thing I actually have control of right now. I am having this baby here... Can you please help me get to the living room?"

There was no physical way to move her. He wished he could just sweep her up in his arms, unfortunately that wasn't an option. He took her by the arm, letting her put all of her weight onto him as they slowly made their way to the living room.

He sets her down on the floor, propped up by the couch. He had looked around and behind him noticing the trail of blood that followed.

He excuses himself and grabs a first aid kit. When he returned she was picking out the glass from her hands, when she noticed what was missing.

"Oh no," she gasps. "The ring. Your mother's ring. It's gone," she panicked.

He crouches down beside her, opening the first aid kit, taking out bandages, alcohol wipes and tweezers.

"It's just a ring," he states. "Your life is more important than a ring. Don't feel guilty. It can be replaced, but you can't be."

She stays quiet. But he was right though.

He took her left hand, placing it in his lap and pulling the glass out one by one while she aimlessly stared at the burning firewood. She hadn't completely processed  what transpired within the last two hours. It still felt like she was still in a nightmare; waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Andrea's hand began to curl up instinctively. He went to apologize, thinking he wasn't being gentle enough when he peered over and noticed her face twisted in pain as she leaned forward.

She breathes out heavily in short puffs.

"Andrea, what's wrong?" He asks worriedly.

The contraction was long and close to being unbearable.

"These are so much different from Braxton hicks," she says nearly out of breath. "But we should be keeping track. Where's your phone?"

He reaches into his pocket. "What are we keeping track of? Is it to measure how close and far apart the contractions are?"

She smiled lightheartedly. "Exactly."

"Those books did pay off," he says proudly.

As he unlocks his phone, he immediately receives an influx of messages from her that she sent an hour ago begging him to come home.

He stared intently, unable to move past the guilt he felt in that moment.

He suddenly blurted out, "I'm my father. I said I'd never be like him."

"And you're not," she gently reassures.

"I am," he says adamantly. "You needed me and I wasn't here. I became obsessed and left you behind for my own greed. You could've died tonight, Andrea."