I Lost Our Baby While He Was With Her

I woke up to white ceiling tiles and the smell of bleach.

My hand moved to my stomach before my brain caught up. Flat. The curve that had been there yesterday was gone.

A nurse was checking something on a monitor. She saw me looking and came over. Her smile was the kind people wear at funerals.

"You're awake. How are you feeling?"

I didn't answer. I just stared at where my baby used to be.

"Is there anything I can get you? Water? Something for the pain?"

"My husband." My voice came out rough. "Where is he?"

She glanced at the door. "He left contact information. For when you're ready to be discharged."

Left.

I looked at her. "Did he say anything else?"

She hesitated. Her professional smile flickered. "He said to call a car."

Call a car.

Not I'll come back. Not I'm sorry. Not I love you.

Call a car.

The nurse adjusted my IV. Said something about rest. Left.

I lay there looking at my mother's pearl bracelet. Still on my wrist. Still perfect. The clasp caught the light from the hallway.

I didn't cry.

I just lay there. Empty.

---

The penthouse looked exactly the same.

I stood in the foyer with my overnight bag. The marble floors gleamed. The designer furniture sat in its carefully arranged positions. Everything beautiful. Everything cold.

Elliot was in the living room. Suit jacket off. Tie loosened. He looked up when I walked in.

"You're back."

I set down my bag. "I lost the baby."

He poured himself scotch. "I know."

That was it. I know.

I waited for something else. An apology. Grief. Anything.

He took a drink. "Alessandra could have been seriously hurt, Cadence. You need to control yourself."

The room tilted.

"Control myself?"

"Creating scenes. Following her into corridors. The doctors said her episode was triggered by stress." He set down his glass. "I understand you're upset. But you can't take it out on other people."

I stared at him. Really looked at him. Saw a man who had been told a story about me that he believed more than anything I could say. More than the blood on my dress. More than the empty space where our child used to be.

The conversation I'd overheard in his office wasn't a misunderstanding.

It was the truth.

"I'm going to bed," I said.

He nodded. Picked up his tablet. Dismissed.

I walked to the guest room. Closed the door. Sat on the edge of the bed.

My phone was in my hand before I realized I'd taken it out.

Carter answered immediately. "Cadence?"

"Keep it ready," I said quietly. "The safety net. Keep it ready."

"It's ready now." His voice was steady. Calm. "Whenever you are."

I hung up. Looked around the guest room. Expensive sheets. Tasteful art. A bed I'd never slept in before tonight.

I lay down fully clothed.

Stared at the ceiling.

Didn't sleep.

---

The messages started two days later.

I was at a coffee shop near the penthouse — the one I'd been going to for years, the one where they knew my order — when my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

A screenshot. Elliot's signature on a document transferring Owens family shares. Dated three months ago. Right after our wedding.

Below it: 😂

I deleted it. Blocked the number.

Another message came through. Different number. Another screenshot. Another laughing emoji.

I set down my coffee. Left without drinking it.

---

She was at my yoga studio the next morning.

I walked in and saw her on a mat in the back corner. Cream leggings. Serene expression. She smiled and waved.

I turned around and walked out.

She was in the waiting room at my obstetrician's office on Thursday. I'd gone for a follow-up appointment. Routine check after the miscarriage.

Alessandra sat two chairs away. Flipping through a magazine.

She looked up. "Oh. Cadence. What a coincidence."

I didn't respond. I stared straight ahead until the nurse called my name.

When I came out twenty minutes later, Alessandra was gone.

But my phone buzzed in the elevator.

Another screenshot. Another emoji.

---

I started seeing her everywhere.

The farmer's market on Saturday. The bookstore on Sunday. The park where I used to run.

She never approached. Never spoke. Just appeared. Smiled. Left.

My grief had no space to breathe. Every time I tried to sit with it — tried to feel the loss of my baby without collapsing — she was there. Watching. Waiting.

I stopped going out.

I sat in the guest room of Elliot's penthouse and felt the walls close in.

My phone buzzed constantly. Screenshots. Transactions. Evidence of everything Elliot had done to my father's company. Everything he'd done to me.

And always, always: 😂

On the fifth day, I picked up my phone.

Called Carter.

"I need out," I said. "Now."

"I'm on my way."

I hung up. Looked around the guest room one last time.

Then I started packing.