Steps Counted In My Blood
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Summary
The first gift Brett gave me after I found out I was pregnant was a locked titanium smart band clamped around my right ankle.
His rule was absolute: fifteen thousand steps a day.
If I fell even a single step short, he would pull out his phone and remotely kill the thermostat and the hot water heater.
He would stand in our open-concept kitchen, his gaze sliding over my swelling belly with something that had curdled into distaste, and say, "My trainer says pregnant women who don't push themselves just breed sickly, fragile babies."
