Chapter 1: The Side of the Road
“Get out.””
For a second, I honestly thought I had misunderstood him.
The pain in my stomach had turned my breathing shallow. My hands were trembling against the curve of my belly, and the seat belt felt like a steel band pulled too tight around me.
“Eric,” I whispered, “I need a hospital.””
He stared at me with the kind of expression people reserve for strangers who are being inconvenient.
“You need to stop acting.””
Another contraction tore through me.
I bent forward with a cry.
Eight months pregnant, I had already learned how to tell the difference between ordinary discomfort and something being wrong.
This was wrong.
The morning had started quietly enough.
Rain had left the roads slick and dark, and the windows of Eric’s SUV fogged slightly at the corners. He drove with one hand on the steering wheel, tapping his thumb impatiently against it whenever the traffic slowed.
I watched the red lights pass through the windshield.
I was supposed to be at my prenatal appointment in twenty minutes.
Eric was supposed to drop me off, go to work, and return that evening.
That was the plan.
Over the last year, I had become good at plans.
Plans meant knowing which words would irritate Eric. Which restaurants were acceptable. Which questions would start an argument. Which silences would end one.
The safest version of myself had learned to be small.
Then the pain came.
At first, it felt like a knife twisting deep inside my abdomen.
I pressed my palm to my stomach.
“Eric?””
No response.
“Can you pull over?””
He sighed.
“Claire, we're almost there.””
“I need you to stop.””
He glanced at me.
“You're fine.””
“No. I'm not.””
His jaw tightened.
“I don't have time for this.””
The next contraction came harder.
I grabbed the handle above the window.
“Please.””
Eric suddenly turned onto a quiet side street.
Relief lasted less than a second.
The SUV jerked to a stop.
He threw the vehicle into park and ripped off his seat belt.
“What is wrong with you?”” he demanded.
“I told you. Something is wrong.””
“You have an appointment.””
“I know.””
“So go to your appointment.””
“I can barely breathe.””
He opened his door.
I thought he was getting out to help me.
Instead, he walked around the vehicle, yanked open my passenger door, and grabbed my arm.
“Eric—”
“Get out.””
My mouth fell open.
“What?””
“You heard me.””
“I'm eight months pregnant.””
“I know exactly how pregnant you are.””
He pulled harder.
I caught the door frame with my free hand.
“Stop! You're hurting me.””
“You are unbelievable.””
Another wave of pain hit.
I cried out.
Eric looked around the empty street, not at me.
Then he said the sentence that stayed inside my head long after everything else became a blur.
“You always find a way to make everything about you.””
He pulled me out of the SUV.
My shoe caught on the curb.
I stumbled, clutching my stomach.
“Eric!””
He stepped back.
I stood there in the rain, one hand against the car, the other wrapped around my belly.
“Please don't leave me.””
For one heartbeat, I saw the man I thought I married.
Then he got into the driver's seat.
I knocked on the window.
“Eric, please!””
He looked straight ahead.
The SUV rolled away.
I watched the red taillights disappear.
My knees buckled.
I made it to the curb before collapsing onto it.
A delivery van slowed.
The driver jumped out.
“Ma'am? Are you okay?””
“No,” I gasped.
“I'm pregnant. Please call 911.””
The driver's name was Marcus. I learned that later.
He stayed with me until the ambulance arrived.
At the hospital, everything moved at once.
Nurses pushed me into a room. Someone connected monitors to my belly. Someone else asked me questions in a calm voice that somehow made me more frightened.
“How many weeks?””
“Thirty-two.””
“Any bleeding?””
“No.””
“Are you having regular contractions?””
“I don't know.””
“Who is with you?””
“My husband.””
“Where is he?””
I stared at the ceiling.
“I don't know.””
My father arrived before Eric did.
That was because I had memorized one number for emergencies.
Dad.
He came through the hospital doors wearing a soaked jacket and a face I had never seen on him before.
He reached my bed.
“Claire.””
I burst into tears.
He took my hand.
“You're not alone.””
“I thought something happened to the baby.””
He looked at the monitor.
“They're watching both of you.””
A doctor came in and explained that the pain was caused by severe contractions and complications that required observation. They were trying to stop labor and make sure the baby remained stable.
My father listened without interrupting.
When the doctor left, he sat beside me.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Eric.
Dad answered.
“What happened to my daughter?””
There was a pause.
Whatever Eric said made my father's expression change.
“You left her on the side of the road?””
Another pause.
“No.””
Dad stood up.
“You don't get to explain this away.””
He ended the call.
I watched him.
“What did he say?””
Dad looked at me for a long moment.
“He said you were exaggerating.””
I closed my eyes.
That hurt more than I expected.
Hours later, around sunset, the doctor told me I was stable enough to rest for the night.
Dad kissed my forehead.
“I'm going home for a few things.””
I nodded.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from him.
*I changed the locks. Eric isn't coming into that house tonight.*
I stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
*Claire, there is something you need to know about what he's been doing.*
I called immediately.
Dad answered on the first ring.
His voice was low.
“I found a folder.””
“What kind of folder?””
“The kind you should have seen a long time ago.””
May you like
Then he said a name I had never heard before.
And every assumption I had about my marriage began to crack.
