Griffin holds me all night, caressing my still-flat belly. I lay my hand over his, needing the physical connection and comfort of touch. He said all the right words, the kind any woman in my situation would be happy to hear. But something still bothers me all night. It’s nothing overt—more like that unease you get when you can’t remember if you turned off the stove before leaving home. But even as the mild apprehension lingers, I can’t put my finger on why.
