Chapter 32 Thirty-two

• Dr. Whitman, Dante’s pet, leaves with a final nod to the camera in the corner. Everything is fine, she said. The baby is strong. My blood pressure is still high, but not dangerously so. Rest, fluids, minimal stress. Her instructions echo in my head as I lie on the bed, one hand on my belly where Matteo shifts restlessly.
• As if rest is possible in a prison, no matter how luxurious. As if stress can be avoided when your jailer is the man who murdered your parents.
• I've eaten the meal they brought, simple chicken soup and bread, and showered in the pristine bathroom that's bigger than my entire apartment was. Clean clothes were laid out: soft pants with an elastic waist, a loose shirt. Nothing with strings or buttons or zippers. Nothing that could be used as a weapon. They've thought of everything.