Page 68 of The Square

And then other times it’s insanity.

It is insanity. The whole fucking thing from top to bottom is insane.

But love does that to people. It makes them irrational, and stupid, and impulsive.

I turn to look at Danny in the limo. He’s staring straight ahead. Processing. “But you… you don’t have a baby.”

I shake my head, trying to stop the tears, but failing. “No, I don’t.”

And there’s only three way this ends, right? He’s running this trio of possibilities through his head right now.

One. I gave it up. But he discards that immediately because I would never do that to my child. Ever. Someone did that to me once. And him. And not in the loving way, either. Not at birth, but later. After years of neglect, and violence, and drugs, and foster homes.

Two. I had an abortion. He thinks about this a little longer, but then finally says, “No. You didn’t get rid of it.”

I start crying. Because no, I didn’t get rid of it.

He doesn’t even think about the final option. Just reaches round with his other arm and hugs me tight. Then tighter. Then he buries his face into my hair and says, “Oh, Christine.”

And I blurt, through tears and sobs, and snot running out of my nose, “I lost it, Danny. I lost it.”

Nothing prepared me for the feelings that came after. Nothing could. I’d never lost something so wanted. Even when Danny walked out I always knew he’d be back. It was never final. It was just… a cooling-off period. Time to consider things and maybe learn a few things about ourselves and this new kind of love we were inventing. We needed space to remember who and what we were to each other. A few months to dream about what we could be if we tried hard enough.

And then we’d be back together. Better than ever. Stronger, more committed, more in love.

Except it didn’t happen that way.

Alec and I grew apart in those weeks following my miscarriage. I was in bed. Recovering at first. I was in the second trimester. Almost five months when the miscarriage happened. So many hormones in my body at the time.

Then… nothing. They were all gone.

And we’d already bought a bassinet and a crib. We knew it was a girl. I’d had an ultrasound just one week prior to the miscarriage with no detected issues. ‘Incompetent cervix’ was the term they told me afterward.

So crazy how fast things can go wrong.

So we were decorating things in pink and white. Discussing names. All the things couples do when they’re expecting.

And then we weren’t.

It’s like… we went from having so much to say to having nothing to talk about at all.

We were strangers. Which was something we never were before. We were never strangers. We were always Alec, Christine, and Danny.

So I knew that was why. Because everything had to have a reason. There had to be a reason for this, right?

And there was. It was because we didn’t include Danny. We let him walk out. We kept this secret from him when he deserved to be there.

I didn’t get out of bed for almost a week. And then I stopped eating. And then I just gave up. I wanted to call Danny, tell him everything. Beg him to come get me and take me back. Take me home. My real home. Which was anywhere he was. With him, I guess. That was all I wanted. To be with Danny.

Alec didn’t know what to do.

He came back less. He stayed out later. He was gone more.

And then… so was I.

We were different. For now. And I was OK with that. At least I thought I was.

I went back to work. Took assignments—hell, started making my own assignments. Started running my own jobs.

The space we needed turned into distance over the next couple months.

But I was not in bed, I was sort of eating. And I was killing people.

I was almost normal again, I rationalized.

This was just who I was now. Christine, the assassin.

I was fine. Or at least, I was alive.

I was OK until I found out Eliza got pregnant.

And then I wasn’t.