After the Miscarriage, She Walked Away

But he didn't want to hear it.

He didn't get it. Why? Why, when he'd already gone this far.

Nadia could still take it.

Was she an idiot?

If she was unhappy, couldn't she just say so?

Couldn't she throw a fit?

With Brent around, who could ever lay a hand on this little rabbit?

Brent stopped what he was doing.

He went to the bathroom.

Showered, scrubbing himself clean from head to toe.

Gillian was stunned.

"What's wrong, Brent? Did I do something to upset you?"

"Get out."

Gillian obediently backed out of the bathroom.

A bitter laugh rose in Brent's chest.

These women. All that talk about being rebellious, and underneath it they were no different from Nadia. Obedient.

Every ounce of grievance, of fury, of hatred, I poured it all into the violin.

My style, more impassioned than I'd ever played.

Three minutes.

Mr. Salazar called for me to stop.

The foreign director's voice came through the phone.

"Absolutely breathtaking. You're the one, Miss Whitman. We'll see you abroad in three days."

"Okay."

Three days, and we'd meet abroad.

The call ended, and I slumped into the soft chair and dialed 911.

"I think I'm having a miscarriage. Please come."

The operator's voice grew tense.

"Miss, is anyone with you right now? Is your husband there? He can drive you to our hospital so we can meet you faster and see if we can still save the baby."

"No. He's not. The baby can't be saved. I'm letting it go."

With every word.

My heart ached a little more.

I had wanted the baby.

I wanted family, someone tied to me by blood.

All the love my mother gave me, I would have given to him.

Brent had wanted a child too.

He'd quit smoking to prepare, he'd exercise, fix his sleep, he'd even study parenting on his own, and he barely went to any of his business dinners.

He said, "My parents were hardly around, always quick with their fists and their words. Once I have a kid, I'll be there for them, no matter what. I'll never raise a hand."

But all he ever did was talk.

He never followed through.

Brent finished his shower.

He wanted to go look in on Nadia, but he stopped at the bedroom door.

Something inside him was a mess.

A strange feeling churned in his chest, roiling until even breathing hurt.

Brent thought it was the late nights and the drinking finally catching up with him.

He didn't know this feeling was called regret.

Brent lay back down on the bed.

He took half a sleeping pill and drifted off.

He had mild depression, anxiety.

Only the sound of Nadia's violin could let him sleep in peace.

He'd thought about having Nadia play the violin to lull him to sleep.

But after turning it over and over in his mind.

He still pulled out his phone and played the recording he'd listened to a thousand times.

This one was recorded back when they were young.

It wasn't quite like the way Nadia played now.

Brent loved both, but the old one still set him more at ease.

Gillian watched Brent.

Even though she'd never fallen in love, never understood love, only profit.

Hungry to land a wealthy husband in one clean strike.

Right now, she saw it clearly: Brent loved Nadia. Brent had fallen.

So once Brent was asleep, she left the bedroom.

To find Nadia.

To make Nadia back out.

The first thing she saw was the blood on the floor.

A large patch of it.

Then a thin, broken trail of it, stretching all the way to the room in the corner.

She pushed the door open.

And froze at what she saw.

Whoever it was said nothing.

I guessed it was Gillian.

"Get out."

I summoned every last bit of strength I had.

"Get out!"