My voice sounded almost normal. Almost. The rain provided cover, filling the silence between my words with white noise that might explain any roughness she heard.
"We're just out having dinner." I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "Oh, we're being careful. Dante's right here with me."
The lie came out smooth. I had learned to lie smoothly. Seven years married to a made man teaches you that, whether you want the lesson or not. You learn to keep your voice level when the truth is a weapon you can't afford to fire yet. You learn to say his name like everything is fine. You learn to protect the people you love from the knowledge that would hurt them, because the knowing doesn't help. Not yet. Not tonight.
I had to keep it together. I couldn't let my mom hear me cry. I wouldn't.
"It's raining, Mom. Drive home safely, okay? Text me when you get there."
I hung up quickly before my voice could betray me.
The phone screen went dark. The rain kept falling. Somewhere inside the hospital, a door opened and closed, and a slice of warm light cut across the wet pavement before vanishing.
Once the call ended, I took a deep breath and tried to hold everything in. I pressed my back against the pillar. I closed my eyes. I told myself I was strong, that I had a plan, that I had sent the evidence, that the fixer would call me tomorrow, that my daughter would be born into something better than this.
But no matter how hard I tried, the tears finally spilled over.
They came without sound at first. Just heat on my cheeks, mixing with the cold rain, indistinguishable from the weather to anyone passing by. Then my shoulders began to shake. Then my breath came in short, ragged pulls that I couldn't control, couldn't quiet, couldn't stop.
I cried. I cried quietly, my body trembling under the weight of it all. The baby moved inside me, pressing a small hand or foot against the wall of my belly, and I covered the spot with my palm and held it there, and the contact made me cry harder because she was the only one reaching for me. The only one in the world who was reaching for me.