His Mistress Killed Our Baby

I held the ultrasound printout against my chest as I walked down the corridor. The paper was still warm from the printer. I could feel my heartbeat through it.

Six weeks.

I turned the corner toward the exit and stopped.

Jolene stood in the middle of the hallway, leaning against the wall like she'd been waiting. She straightened when she saw me. Her gaze dropped immediately to the paper in my hands.

For a moment neither of us moved.

Then she smiled.

"Camryn." Her voice was bright, friendly. "What a coincidence."

I didn't answer. I tried to step around her.

She moved into my path.

"What's that?" She nodded at the printout. "Hospital paperwork?"

I held it tighter.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. Then her expression cleared, and something cold settled behind it. She tilted her head.

"Oh my god." Her voice went soft. "Are you pregnant?"

I didn't say anything.

"Congratulations." She took a step closer. "How far along?"

I stepped back. She followed.

"Does Lennox know?" Another step. "I bet he doesn't. You were going to surprise him, weren't you? That's so sweet."

We were near the stairwell now. The one that led down to the parking garage. I could see the red exit sign over her shoulder.

"Excuse me," I said quietly.

Jolene didn't move.

I tried to go around her. She shifted again, blocking me, and this time she was smiling wider.

"You know what's funny?" she said. "Lennox told me just last week that he never wanted kids. He said the idea of being tied down like that made him feel trapped."

I looked at her face. At the perfect makeup. At the smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"But I guess you didn't ask him, did you?" she continued. "You just decided for both of you. That's very like you, Camryn. Always so quiet. Always so... presumptuous."

She took another step.

I was at the top of the stairs now. I could feel the edge of the first step behind my heel.

"Jolene—"

"Do you really think a baby is going to change anything?" Her voice dropped lower. "Do you think it's going to make him love you?"

She reached out. For a second I thought she was going to take the ultrasound from my hands.

Instead she put both palms flat against my chest and shoved.

I didn't have time to catch myself.

The stairs came up fast. My shoulder hit first, then my hip, then my head. The world flipped and blurred. I heard the ultrasound printout tear. I tried to grab the railing but my fingers slid off. Another step caught my ribs. Then another.

I hit the landing at the bottom and everything stopped.

I lay on my side, cheek pressed against cold concrete. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. There was a wetness spreading beneath me, warm and wrong.

I curled my hands over my stomach.

Above me, at the top of the stairs, I heard the soft click of heels. I tilted my head — the right side, always the right side — and saw Jolene looking down at me.

She adjusted her coat lapel with two fingers. Smoothed her hair.

Then she turned and walked away.

I tried to call out. Nothing came.

The wetness kept spreading.

I closed my eyes.

---

When I woke up, I was in a bed.

White ceiling. White walls. The smell of disinfectant so strong it made my throat close. I turned my head — right side, always right — and saw an IV line running into my arm.

A nurse was standing by the door, writing something on a clipboard. She looked up when I moved.

"Mrs. Hawkins." Her voice was gentle. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

I opened my mouth. My lips were cracked.

"The baby," I whispered.

Her face changed.

She set down the clipboard and came to the side of the bed. She didn't touch me. She just stood there, and I could see the answer in her eyes before she said anything.

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "We did everything we could."

I stared at her.

"The fall caused significant trauma. By the time the staff found you, there was already heavy bleeding. We couldn't—" She stopped. "I'm so sorry."

I looked down at my hands.

They were still curled, fingers bent like I was holding something. The ultrasound printout was there, torn in half, the image barely visible through the crease.

The nurse had tried to take it from me, I realized. But I wouldn't let go.

I smoothed the torn edges with my thumb.

Six weeks.

"Mrs. Hawkins, is there someone we can call for you?"

I didn't answer.

I lay back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling. Somewhere down the hall a machine beeped. Voices blurred together on my right side. On my left, nothing.

I breathed in.

I breathed out.

I felt nothing at all.