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I don’t want to believe it. I can’t face what that means.
Burying my head in the cupboard, I search again, but I didn’t overlook the silver rectangular packet. It’s not there.
When I sit back on my haunches, I don’t have a choice but to acknowledge the suspicion that formed in my mind when my hand first came up empty.
No.
I knew this could happen. My husband warned me. He told me he wanted a baby and that he wasn’t giving me a choice in the matter. But I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want to admit what that makes him. That he has so little regard for me. That even in this choice I have no freedom. Because there was a time when he considered my wishes. After we lost our virginity together, he went to the pharmacy for me. He got me the morning-after pill. He promised to use condoms. He told me the act showed how much he cared about what I wanted. But that was then, before all the killings. This is now. What I want doesn’t matter any longer. He doesn’t give a damn about my wishes. He couldn’t make a stronger statement of how little he cares.
The coffee pushes up in my throat, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
My heart thumps with sluggish beats between my ribs as I look around the bathroom. My gaze falls on the trashcan. I pull it closer and peer inside.
And there it is, the proof lying like a nasty accusation on a pile of tissues and cotton swabs.
Dipping a shaky hand inside, I pull out the silver packet. The casings are empty. The packet slips from my fingers, landing soundlessly on that soft bed of trash while screaming the truth in my head.
Angelo flushed away my pills.
The betrayal burns hot. Heat rushes through me and covers every inch of my skin.
Gripping the counter, I pull myself up and heave a breath. I think I’m going to be sick.
How could he?
I’m not even twenty. He’s only twenty-four. Yet he seems so much older than his age. The brutal experience that comes with his business matured him early. It made him too cruel. Too unfeeling.
The icy fingers of deception and disappointment that squeeze around my heart replaces the feverish heat of the shock. How can we bring a child into our twisted, corrupt world? I cup a hand over my stomach, imagining the injustice we’d do to a baby.
In the reflection of the mirror, my face is pale. Sweat beads on my forehead as I go from cold to hot and back to cold again.
We had wild sex only yesterday, no more than fourteen hours ago. I have to go to the village. I can buy birth control pills at the pharmacy.
In my rush to get ready, I tip over the porcelain toothbrush holder, catching it just before it hits the floor. I pause and inhale deeply. I need to get a hold of myself. Why am I so shocked? I’ve been training for this moment. I’ve been preparing myself. That’s my secret weapon. Isn’t that why I slip down the valley at every chance I get? Isn’t that why I save the money from the casual jobs I do in secret?
The resolve gives me strength. I dress in record-time and hurry to Sophie’s room.
Placing a hand on her shoulder, I gently shake her awake. “Sophie? Sweetheart?”
She moans and rolls onto her back. Her small face is flushed, and her cheeks are bright red.
“Sophie,” I exclaim, placing a hand on her forehead.
My God.
She’s burning up.
I should’ve known something was wrong when she wasn’t up early this morning. She never sleeps in.
Cursing myself for my shortsightedness, I pull back the warm covers. I need to cool her down and break the fever. I stop for a moment to think through my panic.
What would Mom do?
I remember that time when my sister, Mattie, had a fever of forty degrees. Mom ran a tepid bath and let Mattie soak in the water until her fever came down.
I run to the adjoining bathroom and open the tap in the tub. A shower is out of the question. Sophie is scared of submersing her head under the water. I barely manage to wash her hair in the basin. Besides, she’s too weak to stand on her own. Worry assaults me when I think how terrified she’ll be of lying down in the water. She’s still washing herself standing up in the bath.
I put out a couple of clean towels before returning for Sophie. She’s delirious with fever, muttering nonsense and not fully waking when I remove her pajamas. It’s a battle to pull the top over her head. She moans as I support her neck to lift her.
