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‘No. I work in London. I’ve just finished work.’
‘Okay. Can you tell me if you’re in pain?’
‘My stomach and my back.’
‘Is your vision clear?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, Becky, let’s try to sit up.’ The man holds me under the arms and brings me to sit. It’s then I notice blood on my jeans.
I reach up to my head and get blood on my fingers. ‘I cut my head.’
‘You did.’ He moves around me and mumbles with his co-worker. ‘We’re going to pop you in a chair, Becky, and get you to the hospital, okay?’
‘Please, I don’t need to go to the hospital. I have to get home.’
They don’t listen, and within minutes, I’m being strapped into an ambulance chair with a pink knit blanket over me.
In the ambulance, the man who spoke to me asks, ‘Is there any chance you could be pregnant?’
I feel my brows furrow. ‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’ The smile he gives me is so fake, it tells me exactly where the blood is coming from.
* * *
I’m lying on the hospital bed in a white gown, my eyes closed to shield them from the overhead fluorescent lights. Yet my tears keep falling.
They confirmed I lost the baby.
I’ve cried for the baby I didn’t know. But that’s not why the tears keep falling. My tears keep falling because I am a cold, heartless bitch. Because when they first told me, I felt choked. I’d lost the life that had been growing inside me. The life I was supposed to protect. Then, I felt relief.
How can I possibly feel relieved?
I don’t want a baby to come into this world and live with Mike, with his constant verbal abuse. I don’t want a baby to see how weak I am. To know that I can’t protect it because I can’t even protect myself from him.
I don’t want to be trapped anymore.
I’ve wanted to leave for so long and never found the strength. The baby finally made me think I could do it. That I had to leave Mike’s hold to protect my little boy or girl. Yet, I still hadn’t done it because a part of me knew I would be taking my baby away from its dad.
Now, there is no baby, and I can go. I want to go. I will leave him.
‘Rebecca.’ I hear Mike and open my eyes. He’s glaring at me. He moves toward me and hovers over me, close to my ear.
‘You did this. You did this on purpose, you selfish cunt.’
My willpower is immediately zapped by this man. ‘Mike, please. I swear I didn’t.’
‘I told you to leave that job,’ he snarls.
I’m saved by a doctor who enters, wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard.
‘Hi, Becky. I’m going to sign you off now that you have someone to take you home.’
Please. Please don’t send me away.
‘Your head wound is superficial, and you can take painkillers for your muscle soreness.’ He pauses, and his eyes fill with pity I don’t deserve. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ He looks at Mike too and places a hand on his shoulder.
