Chapter 3

Autumn's POV

Leaning against the hospital pillows, I pulled out my phone and found a divorce lawyer.

A friend had forwarded the contact info earlier; I hadn't even bothered remembering the attorney's name.

I only verified two things: whether I could finalize the paperwork on my own, and how the assets would legally be divided.

The lawyer recited a long list of statutes before asking if I planned to file a lawsuit or sit down for a private settlement.

I didn't answer that.

Sitting down to talk would just mean listening to Ethan recount those one hundred and twenty instances of his sacrifices all over again.

I was sick of it. I didn't want to hear another word.

After hanging up, the heavy knot in my chest suddenly dissolved.

All that was left was to let my body heal, to wait until I could stand up from this bed on my own two feet.

On the afternoon of the third day, Brenda walked into the room alone.

Carrying a stainless steel thermos, she closed the door behind her and gently unfolded the overbed tray.

"Autumn, I came to see you."

Her eyes were red as she unscrewed the thermos lid.

"The doctor said you lost the baby... I made your favorite soup. Please, have some."

I leaned against the pillows, hands resting over the blanket, unmoving.

"Autumn, why are you ignoring me?"

Brenda scooped out a bowl of creamy mushroom soup and held it out.

"I know you hate me, but I couldn't just stay in bed. Losing my baby left such a hollow ache in my chest, I've been panicking..."

"Get out," I cut her off.

"Autumn, I know you blame me, but you can't hold this against me!"

"I told you to get out." I looked up into her eyes. "Keep the soup for yourself."

Brenda didn't budge. She stirred the soup with a spoon, blew on it to cool it down, and held it to my lips.

She babbled on about how tragic her life was, adding that she didn't blame me and only wanted everyone to be happy.

Staring at the porcelain spoon hovering in front of my face, I spoke without expression.

"Done performing?"

The spoon in her hand froze instantly.

In the next second, the pitiful, fragile mask on her face vanished without a trace.

She straightened her back, unzipped her tote bag, and pulled out a palm-sized baby onesie.

Before I could pull away, Brenda grabbed my wrist in a vice-like grip and shoved the bundle of fabric roughly into my palm.

"Feel it, Autumn."

Brenda leaned close to the headboard, her voice dropping to a vicious whisper.

"These are the clothes meant for the baby you killed."

"I carried him for over four months. He was already kicking inside me."

Her nails dug deep into the flesh of the back of my hand.

"Now it's all gone."

"You forced me to leave with your dirty money. You're the one who killed him."

"How do you sleep at night? Aren't you terrified that poor, unformed soul will come haunting your dreams?"

The fabric still held the warmth of Brenda's body.

My lower stomach throbbed with dull ache; the blood I lost three days ago still felt like ice chilling my bones.

Yes, I had handed her that bank card.

Yet this woman was using my momentary guilt like a branding iron, searing it repeatedly into my flesh.

The second I showed weakness, she would stomp me into dust.

A decade of swallowed grievances surged straight up into my throat.

Summoning every ounce of strength I had left, I ripped my wrist free and brought my hand across Brenda's face in a vicious slap.

The sharp crack echoed through the private room. A nurse passing by in the hallway froze, poking her head in to look.

The blow threw Brenda off balance. The porcelain bowl shattered against the floor, spilling hot soup everywhere.

Clutching her burning, reddened cheek, she slowly turned her head back toward me.

There wasn't a single tear in her eyes.

Staring at me, the corners of Brenda's lips slowly curled into a smirk.