Blood poured from between my legs, and I screamed in terror, "Save my baby!"
The sound that came out of me didn't belong in a café. It didn't belong in a place with espresso machines and checkered napkins and the faint sound of Italian radio. It was animal. It was the sound of a woman whose body was betraying the only thing she had left to protect.
I barely registered Cara fleeing in panic. The click of her heels, fast now, graceless, the shopping bag abandoned by the chair. The door swinging open and the sound of rain rushing in before it swung shut again. Gone. Like she'd never been there. Like none of it had happened.
Forcing myself to stay calm, I asked the café staff to call an ambulance. My voice came out steadier than it should have. Training. Survival. Seven years married to a man who dealt in violence had taught me at least this: when everything is falling apart, you speak clearly, you give instructions, and you do not let them see you break.
