Breaking Dawn   ::   Meyer Stephenie

“I don’t know he’s a boy,” she admitted, a little sheepish. “The ultrasound wouldn’t work. The membrane around the baby is too hard—like their skin. So he’s a little mystery. But I always see a boy in my head.”

“It’s not some pretty baby in there, Bella.”

“We’ll see,” she said. Almost smug.

“ You won’t,” I snarled.

“You’re very pessimistic, Jacob. There is definitely a chance that I might walk away from this.”

I couldn’t answer. I looked down and breathed deep and slow, trying to get a grip on my fury.

“Jake,” she said, and she patted my hair, stroked my cheek. “It’s going to be okay. Shh. It’s okay.”

I didn’t look up. “No. It will not be okay.”

She wiped something wet from my cheek. “Shh.”

“What’s the deal, Bella?” I stared at the pale carpet. My bare feet were dirty, leaving smudges. Good. “I thought the whole point was that you wanted your vampire more than anything. And now you’re just giving him up? That doesn’t make any sense. Since when are you desperate to be a mom? If you wanted that so much, why did you marry a vampire?”

I was dangerously close to that offer he wanted me to make. I could see the words taking me that way, but I couldn’t change their direction.

She sighed. “It’s not like that. I didn’t really care about having a baby. I didn’t even think about it. It’s not just having a baby. It’s… well… this baby.”

“It’s a killer, Bella. Look at yourself.”

“He’s not. It’s me. I’m just weak and human. But I can tough this out, Jake, I can—”

“Aw, come on! Shut up, Bella. You can spout this crap to your bloodsucker, but you’re not fooling me. You know you’re not going to make it.”

She glared at me. “I do not know that. I’m worried about it, sure.”

“ Worried about it,” I repeated through my teeth.

She gasped then and clutched at her stomach. My fury vanished like a light switch being turned off.

“I’m fine,” she panted. “It’s nothing.”

But I didn’t hear; her hands had pulled her sweatshirt to the side, and I stared, horrified, at the skin it exposed. Her stomach looked like it was stained with big splotches of purple-black ink.

She saw my stare, and she yanked the fabric back in place.

“He’s strong, that’s all,” she said defensively.

The ink spots were bruises.

I almost gagged, and I understood what he’d said, about watching it hurt her.