He threw the umbrella aside and rushed to her, scooping her up.
Faith leaned into his chest and pointed at her elbow. A tiny patch of skin had been scraped raw.
"It hurts, babe. But Flora didn't mean it. I just lost my footing, that's all."
Tony's head snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot, fixed on me with pure fury.
He set Faith down, took the stairs two at a time, and seized a fistful of my hair.
A tearing pain ripped across my scalp.
He dragged me downstairs.
My stomach slammed into the banister, and a violent, wrenching cramp exploded through my abdomen.
"Tony... let go..."
I clutched my belly. Something warm slid down my inner thigh.
Tony didn't hear me. He dragged me through the living room and hurled me out the front door.
I hit the flooded courtyard hard.
Wind and rain hammered into me, soaking through to my skin in an instant.
I knelt in the water, arms wrapped around my stomach as the pain grew worse and worse. Blood seeped into the rain pooling on the ground, spreading in pale red ribbons around my knees.
"Tony... my stomach... it hurts so bad... take me to the hospital..."
I grabbed at the leg of his trousers, my voice shaking.
Tony kicked my hand away and stood over me, looking down like I was nothing.
He bent down and slapped me across the face. Hard.
A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, and the taste of blood flooded my mouth.
"You're nothing but a vicious, scheming bitch!"
"You pushed Faith down the stairs, and now you're faking sick for sympathy?"
He pointed toward the front gate.
"You can kneel out in the rain and think about what you've done to her!"
He turned, walked inside, and slammed the door shut behind him.
A few minutes later, the garage door opened.
Tony pulled out in the car with Faith and her son, tires tearing through the mud, spraying filthy water in their wake.
I lay facedown in the mud, my vision going dark at the edges.
...
Hours later.
Tony pushed open the front door in high spirits, a limited-edition Transformers toy in each hand.
Let's see if she's ready to behave.
He kicked off his shoes and headed for the living room.
The house was dead silent.
He looked down. On the entryway rug, a trail of blood had spread in a dark, ugly stain.
It stretched all the way to the front door.
On the shoe cabinet by the entrance sat a prenatal exam folder, soaked through by the storm.
The folder was unsealed. Its contents had slipped out.
A single ultrasound photo.