Work was giving me endless headaches. People who’d been let go were trying to take us to court, there were protests—it was the worst time imaginable for me to just up and leave. I hadn’t wanted to tell Noah what was going on because I didn’t want her to worry, but I was afraid it would take me longer to get back to Los Angeles than either of us wanted.
It was harder than ever for me to be away from her. I was driving Steve crazy. I called him constantly to find out if Noah was eating, how she looked, if he thought she was healthy… I was obsessed with the thought that something might happen: the press finding out she was pregnant, or that nightmare that woke me up every damned night about Noah losing the baby and dying while giving birth.
Noah was six months pregnant now. She hadn’t sent me photos, but Steve told me she was showing. He said she seemed edgy and was scared of how other people would react, especially our parents. When we told them, it was going to be World War III, but I couldn’t care less. I was finally happy after a long, long time. I loved that girl more than anything in the world, and I wanted the baby with all my heart.
