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I look at my father. He sees and understands. “I’ll be here for him. You do what you need to do. Once he arrives, I’ll contact you.”
Nodding, I walk away. I go upstairs to change out of the suit I’m wearing. I don’t want to get blood on it.
Back downstairs, my father is waiting in front of the door. Studying me, he cocks his head to the side. “Why was she here? It’s something I haven’t stopped wondering. She should be home safe behind the gates. It’s why I made them so high.”
“I told her she couldn’t have the baby. She had to terminate. I’m not taking a chance on losing her.”
“What?” He’s stunned. “Why the hell would you do something so fucking stupid?”
“Blanca died because of me. Yes, she knew she had preeclampsia and hid it from me with each pregnancy. But I found out there’s a link to the father in cases that kill. The pregnancy could kill her. I’m not losing her for a kid I don’t want.”
His jaw works. A hand runs through his hair. “You’re sure?” He shakes his head before I can open my mouth. “If you knew before you married her, why the fuck did you let her get pregnant?”
The question is a blow I deserve. “At first, I discounted it. Blanca did have two pregnancies she lived through. I was sure Nicolette would be fine, she’s younger and…” It’s clawing at my guts trying to keep it inside. “Then she became the only thing I can’t live without.”
“Look,mijo,there are no guarantees in life. You need to think very carefully. She killed a man who refused her having the family she wanted. Do you really think she would comply so easily if she’s actually pregnant? You might keep her, but…” another shake of his head. “You could lose her heart. Then what does it matter?”
He isn’t saying anything I haven’t been thinking since I got the call from the asshole who has my woman. Suddenly, everything came into sharper focus. I no longer only considered what I got out of keeping her alive and safe. It’s everything I told her from the beginning. If I couldn’t make her happy, if she didn’t want to be with me, then it didn’t matter if I had her. Her unhappy would be the loss of my sunshine.
“I’ll figure it out later. Once I have her back. For now. I’m going to go take care of their men.”
With a sigh, he moves from the door.
* * *
Nicolette
I watch as the guy keeps calling someone who clearly isn’t answering. It’s late. All I want to do is sleep, but the weird little camping cot thing he brought in isn’t comfortable at all. I’m also terrified I’m going to fall through it any minute. So, I can’t relax enough to close my eyes.
My side begins to ache with a stitch. Shit, I’m getting dehydrated. I open the cooler and dig for the water. Ouch. The ice is so cold it burns. Shaking my hand to get the water off makes ice scatter. I sit the bottle down for it to warm a little. It’s so freaking hot and sticky, it shouldn’t take long.
Pulling off my rings, I dry my hands. I trace the bands remembering how upset Manuel got at the idea of losing me. The way he wouldn’t even let me talk about it. Shame fills me for discounting his fear. He already lost one wife to a pregnancy.
As natural and normal as people want to say being pregnant and having a baby is, it’s also extremely dangerous. Taking away preeclampsia from the whole argument. A girl in one of my classes had extreme morning sickness lasting all day long and had to be admitted to the hospital twice for dehydration. There was a woman at work who had a regular morning sickness episode that left her so weak she fell and slammed her head into the sink at work, giving her a concussion and stitches. Then there were the stitches some women suffered when they tore. That doesn’t even cover the post-partem depression and all the terrifying things it can do to a woman.
My chest is hollow. This is all my fault. The walking dead guy, his dead family. If I had stayed put in Medellin, I would be safe right now in our home with our children where I belong. My hand runs over my stomach.
Despite growing up attending a Catholic school, I would never have thought of myself as a good Catholic. From close up, I saw how corrupt the church was, and I stopped praying the year after my mother first went into the mental hospital. I haven’t prayed again.
Now, I hang my head and say a silent prayer. Because if I get out of this… I’m going to do exactly as Manuel said. I have a husband who couldn’t love but somehow makes me feel safer and more loved than even my own mother did. And I’m not letting him go for anything or anyone. If it’s between Manuel and a dream. I’ll pick the reality of him.
The man is back, slamming the door. He’s pale. “You have to talk to your husband. I have four children and a wife.”
I shake my head sadly. “Had.”
He’s a ghost. Shaking his head, he opens his mouth but nothing comes out.
I nod. “Had. You had four children and a wife.”
“He wouldn’t kill children.” It’s a plea.
Closing my eyes, I can’t look at him. “If you finally figured out who he is. Then you should have also been told he will. There’s no one and nothing he wouldn’t kill for touching me.”
A strangled cry comes from him. I hear the car start. But it doesn’t go anywhere. He’s churning the tires, not smart in the soft earth. There’s screaming I can hear all the way in here. He’s banging on the steering wheel.
He comes running back inside. Thrusting his phone at me. “Call him. Tell him if he kills my family, I kill you.”
I take the phone. Looking down at it. I sigh. “You’re going to make it worse.”
