When I woke up, it was quiet.
Too quiet.
Moonlight spilled over rows and rows of gravestones. A cemetery. Funny. I felt safer there than anywhere else. Dead people never hurt me. Living ones always did.
I dragged myself to the road. Every step felt unreal. Like my body belonged to someone else.
When the sky started to lighten, my strength finally gave out. I collapsed right there on the roadside.
....
“Ma’am? Can you hear me?”
I opened my eyes to bright lights and white walls. A nurse was adjusting something in my arm.
Pain hit all at once. Everywhere.
“Where’s my son?!” I croaked. “Where is Ryle?”
She looked startled. “He’s here. He’s okay. He had a fever earlier but it’s gone now. He’s sleeping.”
I turned my head.
Ryle was on the bed beside mine, small and pale, an IV taped to his hand. Dextrose. His lashes rested on his cheeks. Breathing steady.
I cried without sound.
They cleaned my wounds. Asked questions. I answered only what I had to. I pulled the hospital gown tight, hiding my scars, hiding myself.
By evening, they discharged us.
Just like that.
Ryle clung to me the whole time, his arms tight around my neck like if he let go I would disappear.
“Mommy,” he whispered over and over. “Are you hurting? Are you okay now?”
I kissed his hair. “I’m okay, baby. Mommy’s okay.”
He looked up at me with those too old eyes.
“Why do people always hurt us?” he asked softly.
I had no answer.
....
I went back inside the hospital to settle the bills.
I stood in line, quiet, numb.
Then I heard her voice.
“Dave, I’m really fine now. You’re worrying too much,” Roxanne said, light and sweet.
My body froze.
David’s voice followed, low and gentle in a way I had not heard in years. “The doctor said you need to be careful. They said there’s a risk with the pregnancy.”
She laughed softly. “I know. I’m used to it. Yesterday was my fault anyway. I shouldn’t have upset Isabella.”
My hands curled into fists.
I turned.
David was staring at me like he had seen a ghost.
“Isabella?” he said.
Shock hit him first. Then his face hardened.
Roxanne hid behind him like a scared child, fingers clutching his sleeve, body shaking on purpose.
“Please don’t look at me like that, sister,” she whispered, “I didn’t do anything online. You’re frightening me. I’m barely pregnant. The doctor said I can’t be stressed. After I give birth, if you still hate me, you can do whatever you want. I’ll leave. I won’t fight.”