I Miscarried, and My Husband Laughed

After the miscarriage, Damian Gifford snapped a picture of me with my hair a mess, looking like hell, and posted it to his Moments.

Caption: “Justice is served.”

I asked him why he’d do that.

He slammed the door on his way out and shouted,

“Because you look pathetic as fuck! The more miserable you are, the happier Seraphina gets!”

I helped him out by tagging Seraphina Jernigan in the comments. He called me immediately to chew me out.

“Don’t you dare play that passive-aggressive ‘magnanimous first wife’ bullshit with me! How many days do you think you’ve got left as Mrs. Gifford?”

Through the receiver, I could hear Seraphina’s soft, understanding little coos of comfort.

Before I could say a word, he hung up—and blocked my number.

A few minutes later, Seraphina posted a high-profile update: a hand-holding photo, both hands wearing Rosenthal & Co. couple rings.

“Three lifetimes of luck to land the heroine’s script in your life.”

Before, I would have gone insane and torn the Gifford household apart.

This time, I just calmly dialed a number belonging to one of the richest families in the country.

“Mom, I’ve had enough of living like a commoner. Will you let me come home again?”

…

When Damian came back, I was curled up under the blanket, shaking uncontrollably, drenched in cold sweat from the pain of the induced labor.

“Penny Mondale! Where the hell is the dinner I told you to make? Don’t tell me you didn’t see your phone!”

He stepped into the bedroom hurling curses.

I turned over, too exhausted to bother answering him.

Damian strode over and yanked the blanket away. Seeing me curled up, he clicked his tongue in irritation.

“Come on, it’s just a stomachache. You’re acting like you’re about to die.”

“The stomach’s over there! Why are you clutching your abdomen? Can’t even fake being pitiful in the right place, you dumbass.”

I forced myself to sit up a little, trying to pull the blanket back from his hands.

“Sorry. I fell asleep. I really didn’t see it.”

Damian didn’t let go. He gave me a once-over, then handed me the bag he was holding in his other hand.

“Bought this for you. Put it on and let me see if it fits.”

I looked down and frowned.

Inside was a sheer, mesh lingerie set.

I’d been married to Damian for five years, and we’d never had anything like this between us.

Then I noticed the tags had already been removed.

I understood immediately. He’d bought the wrong size for Seraphina and couldn’t return it, so he brought it back to fob off on me.

What a joke.

“If you like it so much, you wear it. I don’t have that kink.”

The second I said that, Damian tossed the bag against the wall in a fury.

“Penny Mondale, I’m trying to be nice and ease the tension between us on a day like today, and this is the attitude you’re giving me?!”

A day like today?

I had to hand it to him—he actually remembered that this was the day I’d given him my first time.

Back then, I treated this date more solemnly than our dating anniversary, more sacred than our wedding anniversary.

But now…

All I’d ever remember was that today, with my own hands, I got rid of my own child.

I drew in a few slow, shaky breaths, ready to snap back at him.

Then my gaze caught something glowing faintly under the hem of Damian’s pajama pants.

I thought of the fluorescent condoms I’d seen in his shopping cart and couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out.

Those two really liked to play, huh.

“You insane? What the hell are you laughing at?”

Damian cursed while following my line of sight downward. His face changed instantly.

“That… I was out with my subordinates for dinner, we were playing truth or dare, they made me put it on…”

I gave a noncommittal “mm” and lay back down.

It was Damian whose expression shifted, his eyes taking on a strange look as he leaned over me.

“Penny, you…”

“What?”

“You… you’re not planning to give me anything today?”

My fists tightened beneath the blanket. The fury that surged up nearly tore itself out of my throat.