It must have slipped off during the fall. It had always been loose. I just hadn’t realized how loose.
Ignoring the gawking crowd, I limped out of the venue and flagged down a cab.
“To the hospital,” I said.
The driver looked alarmed. “Miss, your head’s bleeding!”
I wiped my cheek. My hand came away red. I gave a faint smile.
“It’s fine. I won’t die.”
At the hospital, the doctor frowned while dressing my wound. “Mrs. Turner, you’re still pregnant. Why are you doing this to yourself?”
Before I could answer, the television overhead blared a breaking news bulletin.
“Shocking report! President Turner’s wife faked her kidnapping and cheated on her husband! Suspected of carrying another man’s child and secretly seeking an abortion!”
My vision went black for a moment.
Before I could react, the door burst open.
Mrs. Turner stormed in and slapped me across the face. “You disgrace! You’ve humiliated our whole family!”
Reeling from the blow, I stumbled back. Before I could find my footing, men in black suits grabbed me and dragged me into the Turner family’s ancestral hall.
“Kneel!” Mrs. Turner barked.
I struggled, but my knees were forced down hard onto the freezing tiles.
She pulled out her phone, her voice sharp and unforgiving. “Lucas! Your wife’s scandal is all over the news! Everyone’s laughing at us!”
On the other end, Lucas’s voice was tense. “Mom? Weren’t you and Dad in Australia? Why—”
“What? We can’t come home now?” she sneered. “You see what kind of woman you married?”
“You’re too soft! She cheats on you, and you still defend her? Are you going to let her drag this family through the mud?”
I raised my head and screamed at the screen, “Lucas! Say something! It’s not true—this is your—!”
“Nina,” he interrupted, his voice low and hoarse, “Just bear with it for now. I’ll make it up to you later.”
The midsummer ancestral hall was like an oven. I knelt there on burning tiles, sweat mingling with the blood still seeping from my forehead.
Then came a stab of pain deep in my abdomen. Warm liquid ran down my legs.
“My baby... my baby!” I scrambled to the door and pounded on it, frantic. “Let me out! Please, save my child!”
Mrs. Turner’s cold voice came from outside. “Didn’t you say you aborted it already? Why didn’t you finish the job?”
Sobbing, I dug my fingernails into the wooden door, leaving smears of blood in the cracks. “It’s Lucas’s baby! It’s his! It’s his!”