The immediate wave of sensory input made my stomach churn. The house smelled strongly of stale beer, cheap takeout pizza, and the faint, lingering scent of the lemon pine cleaner from hours ago. The television in the living room was blasting the chaotic sounds of a first-person shooter video game.
I stepped into the foyer, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support.
Leo was sprawled on the couch I had bled on. He was wearing his expensive golf polo, holding an Xbox controller, aggressively mashing the buttons. Across from him, Helen was sitting in the armchair, scrolling through her iPad, a half-eaten slice of pizza resting on a napkin beside her.
Neither of them looked up when the door opened.
“It’s about time,” Helen muttered, not taking her eyes off the screen. “We had to order pizza. The delivery boy tracked dirt on the porch.”
Leo groaned in frustration as his character died on screen. He threw the controller violently onto the glass coffee table. It bounced with a sharp clatter. He spun around, his face flushed red with a sudden, volatile rage.
He saw me standing in the doorway, pale, wearing hospital scrubs because my clothes were ruined. He didn’t see the grief. He didn’t see the physical trauma. He only saw a broken appliance that had failed to perform its duties.
“Do you know the time, you useless b!.tch?!” Leo screamed, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. He stood up, marching toward the foyer, jabbing a finger in my direction. “My mother and I are starving! I worked all day, I entertained clients, and I come home to a flooded floor and no dinner! Where the hell have you been?”
I stared at him. The man I had once loved looked like a stranger. He looked small, petty, and monstrous.
I leaned harder against the wall, my legs trembling. “I was at the emergency room, Leo,” I said, my voice eerily calm, stripped of all emotion. “I texted you. I called you.”
“I was busy!” he yelled, stopping a few feet away from me. “You always do this! You always manufacture some drama when you don’t want to do your chores!”
“I miscarried, Leo,” I stated flatly, looking directly into his eyes, searching for a flicker of a human soul. “The baby… our baby is dead. The doctor said the physical stress caused a placental abruption. I bled out on the floor you made me scrub.”