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“Of course!” Reece was quick to assure. “I’ll let him know you aren’t feeling well.”
I’d nodded and continued my arduous climb up the stairs.
I peeled off my mud-soaked clothes and climbed in the shower. Usually I enjoyed my showers at the end of the day, especially lately since it had been raining so much, and I was usually dealing with some level of mud and muck.
But today I just felt… numb.
I went through the motions of washing myself mechanically, and then I climbed into bed and I slept.
Except that all I’d hoped to escape in my waking life followed me into my dreams. And ten times worse, because it meant reliving it as if I was back there.
I was on the floor.
The smell of burnt crème anglaise. The fucking crème anglaise. If only I hadn’t—
The slap across my face hadn’t been that bad. But when he got good and angry, it usually didn’t stop with a slap. I’d cradled my arms across my stomach.
I didn’t care about the pain radiating across my cheek, my split lip. I didn’t care. He could break my face and mangle me, just not—
I panicked and did the exact wrong thing.
Like always. If only I’d played it different. Kept the secret instead of blurting it out. Done anything other than what I did. I knew what Jeff was like. He couldn’t even stand us having a dog because it drew attention away from him.
He’d taken the dog to the shelter in the middle of the night. He knew how much I loved the dog. He accused me of loving it more than him.
So why the hell did I think it would be different when, lying there on the kitchen floor, burnt crème anglaise in the air, rage in his eyes, I thought it would make things better to hold up a hand and beg, “Wait, please. I’m pregnant! Jeff, please. We’re going to have a baby.”
I’d smiled through my tears. “A little baby who will look just like you. A son to carry on your name!” I didn’t know it was a boy, it wasn’t like I’d been able to go to the doctor about it, but I figured he’d tolerate a son much better than a daughter.
Jeff hated children. He kept me on strict birth control.
“You bitch,” he said, his voice ice. “Did you skip your pills to try to trap me with a kid?”
“What?” I shook my head vigorously. “It was after you— After I had to go see the doctor last year.” When Jeff had thrown me down the stairs of the back deck so hard I’d needed stitches on multiple lacerations. He’d been a hair trigger all last year because it was right after he’d hauled me back from Oregon. I’d just been healing up from the initial broken arm and collarbone when he threw me down the stairs and back to the hospital I went.
“They put me on antibiotics,” I tried to explain, “and it must have interfered with the birth control. I didn’t know they could do that but I looked it up on the internet—”
“You looked it up on the internet,” he said, voice mocking. He reached down and yanked me to my feet by my forearm, his hand a crushing, bruising grip. I yelped but scrambled up to release the pressure.
“I know we didn’t expect it,” I rushed out, still trying to salvage the situation, “but it’s a miracle really, if you think about it—”
“How long have you fucking known and been keeping this a secret from me?” he asked, his voice low and cold.
My mouth went dry and I opened my mouth but no noise came out.
He shook me by his crushing grip on my arm. “HOW LONG?” he bellowed.
“Four months,” I cried. Five, it was really five, but four sounded better. “I suspected when I didn’t get my period two months in a row. But I didn’t know for sure—”
He hit me then, another hard blow across the face.
And I was glad. I was glad he’d hit my face and not my stomach. I thought maybe he’d gotten it out of his system. Maybe he’d need to hit me a few more times, but if I could just protect my stomach—
Just that week I’d felt the baby move. A swimmy sensation in the pit of my belly. I had to protect them. I had to—
I woke screaming, my hands scratching at my stomach.
Empty.
Devoid of life.
The image of the dead calf flashed through my head.
I yanked my pillow up, barely getting it to my mouth before letting out a wailing scream.
My hand scrambled outwards, reaching for the bottle of pills. Ugh, I was sticky with sweat, my hair matted to my forehead. It was dark out and I had no idea what time it was. I’d slept all day and if I could, I’d sleep all night and then another one and another. I didn’t give a damn. I just needed it to stop. All of it, just stop. Stop, stop. Dear God, make it stop!
