Champagne Toast To My Dead Babies

All the color drained from Vincent's face.

He stared at my phone as if the calm male voice on the other end was some monster invading his territory.

"Let him get involved? What does that mean? You don't trust me?"

I laughed, closing the magazine and rising to look him straight in the eye.

"Vincent, do you really think I'm in the mood to play some petty game of tit-for-tat with you?"

He looked wounded, as if he had completely missed the point.

"Then what are you so angry about?"

I almost laughed out loud.

How absurd.

I was being tortured to the brink of insanity, my children were dying one by one, and he had no idea what I was angry about.

I ignored him and spoke to Elias Cole on the phone.

"You can bring the items up now."

With that, I hung up and went to open the door.

A moment later, Elias walked in, carrying a file folder.

He gave a polite nod to the ashen-faced Vincent.

Then he handed the folder and a lab report to me.

"Miss Maxwell, the conclusion is clear."

"This custom-scented oil contains a high concentration of Mifepristone. Long-term inhalation can cause uterine contractions in pregnant women, leading directly to miscarriage."

He paused, then continued.

"I advise an immediate and thorough toxicological screening of all items you regularly come into contact with."

"Until you have the truth, do not blindly trust anyone."

With that, he gave a slight bow. "I'll take my leave. Please call me if you have any further questions."

The click of the door shutting seemed to strip away Vincent's last shred of pretense.

I tossed the report and the evidence bag onto the coffee table in front of him.

Inside was an opened bottle of the "custom-scented oil" Kathleen had given me for my birthday, claiming it would help me relax and sleep.

"Vincent, your family owns a pharmaceutical conglomerate."

"Are you telling me you have no idea what this does to a woman trying to conceive?"

He was silent for so long the air felt frozen. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw.

"Kathleen... she wouldn't know about this."

"She's just a child. She probably saw you were stressed and bought some artisanal product online to help you relax... She was scammed."

I cut him off, my voice sharp and piercing.

"Enough!"

"Vincent, don't you get it? She is killing my children! Your own flesh and blood!"

"And you are her enabler!"

He looked at me in disbelief. "What are you talking about? How could Kathleen... She's so innocent."

I laughed.

"Right. An innocent child who brings me these 'special gifts' every single time I get pregnant."

"An innocent child who hides and giggles after I miscarry."

"Vincent, it's been five years and nine times. How much longer are you going to lie to yourself?"

He recoiled as if I'd struck him, taking an involuntary step back.

"The day we lost our third child, where were you?"

"You were at the hospital with her. Because she saw a drop of blood, got 'traumatized,' and had a 'panic attack' that required your comfort."

A look of shame and pain crossed his face.

"She... she was in a really bad state. The doctor said it could be life-threatening..."

I waved my hand dismissively.

"Enough. I don't want to hear it."

"Don't forget, she's not your blood. She's just an orphan you took in."

He fell silent, his expression unreadable.

"I know."

"But please, don't think so maliciously of her. After all... she's called me 'Dad' for ten years."

A bitter laugh escaped me, and I shoved him away.

"Get out."

To my astonishment, he seemed relieved. He moved closer, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind.

"I know you're angry. I'm heartbroken, too."

"It's my fault. I've neglected you."

His voice softened, his warm breath fanning across my neck.

"I'll talk to her. I'll tell her to be more careful, not to give you these kinds of things anymore."

"Don't be angry, okay? We'll have more children."

He was an expert at using that gentle tone to smooth everything over.

But just as I was about to speak, Vincent's phone rang.

"Kathleen" was flashing on the screen.