Not to protect Kitty. The time simply wasn't right.
Whether it was guilt over misjudging me, or anger at himself for being manipulated—I wasn't sure which.
Darren took over all of my care for the duration of my hospital stay. He even declined Kitty's calls several times.
Once, when she called again, I caught the hesitation on his face.
I grabbed his hand and pressed it against my lower belly, looking up at him with the same wide-eyed dependence I'd perfected as a child.
"Darren, feel this. Our baby's sleeping right here."
"Don't worry, the baby's healthy. When they were hitting me that day, I made sure to protect my stomach, because I remembered you said you couldn't wait for us to have a child of our own. I wanted to make you happy."
"I don't like other people interrupting our time together as a family of three. So don't pick up, okay?"
Sometimes, a man's guilt is the most useful weapon there is.
Sure enough, Darren's eyes went red. Without a second of hesitation, he powered off his phone and pulled me into his arms.
"Jules, I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
"Kitty went way too far this time. I swear on my life, this is the last time. I will never let her hurt you again."
From an angle he couldn't see, my face was completely blank.
I already knew what happened when you believed promises and guarantees like those.
After Kitty couldn't reach Darren and I blocked her number, she finally lost her composure.
The next day, the large screen in the hospital lobby and the television in every patient room all began playing the same video.
It was footage of me pinned to the ground, my clothes being torn off.
Those thugs and their disgusting laughter.
A line of text scrolled across the top on repeat:
"Juliana Henson. Slut. Bastard factory."
Darren had gone to pick up food. When he came back, he found me curled up at the foot of the bed, shaking.
Every male patient in the room was eyeing me with lewd, undisguised stares.
"Damn, sweetheart, you really get around, huh? Does the bastard in your belly even know who its daddy is? How about you come keep me company after you're discharged?"
The women and their families spat at me, hurling every degrading name they could think of, telling me to get out.
Darren was livid. He smashed the television, demanded the hospital cut the feed immediately, and had me transferred to a private VIP room.