Chapter 2

I stayed on my knees after Jackson left.

My body ached. My stomach cramped. My heart…well, I wasn't sure I had a heart left to break.

I stayed long after I bled through the pad I wore in my underwear. Long after the sun set. Long after the sting in my cheek subsided.

He hit me.

He hit me after accusing me of killing my baby—the baby I wanted more than anything in the world.

In the year we'd been together, Jackson had never gotten angry. He'd never yelled, and he never raised his hand. He treated servers and retail staff with respect. Despite the long hours he worked at the hospital, he visited his grandmother once a week at her nursing home. He was one of the kindest men I'd ever met.

I didn't understand what I did wrong.

I killed our baby. My baby.

I did everything wrong.

I hadn't even had time to make any doctors' appointments yet, besides the initial confirmation. I forgot to take all the prenatal vitamins Jackson's mother bought me. A week ago, I forgot to drink water for sixteen hours while I worked a double shift. I ate a deli sandwich at work because I was starving and didn't think before scarfing it down, then spent the rest of the day agonizing over the possible repercussions. I accidentally drank two cups of coffee the day before because I forgot I was supposed to be limiting my caffeine.

If it weren't for me, my baby would have lived.

Somewhere through the dark clouds of my consciousness, I heard my phone ringing. Over and over again.

I raised my head, my neck creaking at the movement. My phone sat on the coffee table where I'd left it. The call went dead, leaving the lock screen illuminated, and I realized it was ten minutes until midnight. I'd knelt on the floor for six hours.

Blood had soaked into my underwear and leggings. Mascara was caked on my cheeks. My knees ached from the tile floor beneath them.

I had to get up.

I was going to pass out.

My head swam the instant I tried to move, and I fell into a sitting position with my legs sprawled out in front of me. I swore. I couldn't remember the last time I'd drank any water. At least six hours ago. Maybe eight. Ten?

I crawled across the floor to the couch, whimpering all the way. I rested against the couch, reaching for my water bottle on the coffee table. Cool water rushed through my system as I gulped it down, trembling.

My phone rang again.

It was my mother.

I reached for it blankly, sliding the green button across the screen. I barely recognized my voice when I answered. "Hi, Mama."

"Hey, Indy-bug." I nearly fell apart at the sound of my mom's voice, warm and inviting. It sounded like home. "How are you feeling?"

I wanted to lie to her. I thought about telling her I was fine and on my way to bed after taking pain medication. Except, I didn't want to be fine.

I wanted my mom. A few tears dripped down my cheeks, and before I knew it, I was a blubbering mess. I yowled something about killing babies and being broken. She asked where Jackson was, and I only sobbed.

"I'm on my way," Mom said.

Then silence reigned.

I stayed on the ground, staining my beige carpet with blood. Twenty-one minutes past midnight, there was a soft knock on my front door. I didn't move. I couldn't—like time and space had frozen around me.

The key turned in the lock. I blinked.

Then, my mom was there, falling to her knees in front of me and wrapping me in her arms like I was a child and not a twenty-three-year-old woman. I sobbed into her shoulder and clung to her like she would disappear at every moment.

The world felt hazy. Mom helped me to my feet and held onto me, guiding me to the bathroom—one step at a time. I'd forgotten I hadn't showered after my shift at work last night, and my hair felt crusty. I sat on the shower floor while Mom washed my hair and massaged my shoulders. Then, she dressed me in my coziest pajamas and sat me on the couch while she put a frozen pizza in the oven.

"Listen to me, Indy," she said when she returned, sitting on my coffee table and offering me a cup of tea. "None of this is your fault."

I was quiet. Of course, it was. But she wouldn't understand, so I said nothing.

Mom sighed, rubbing my knee. "Sometimes things happen."

Still, I said nothing.

She tilted my chin ever so slightly to peek at my cheek. "Indy," she whispered, her eyes widening.

"Did it bruise?" I rasped.

My mother's voice broke. "Did he hit you?"

"Yes."

If there was anything left of me to destroy, the admission would have done it. The man I loved and built a relationship with, who I might have spent the rest of my life with, laid a hand on me. My mind was too jumbled to tell whether our relationship was salvageable before that moment—maybe it wasn't. All I knew was the Jackson I loved was gone…and I was alone.

Mom didn't ask any more questions. She brought me an ice pack for my cheek and some pain medication, sitting next to me while we waited for the pizza to finish baking. I tried not to look at her. When I did, I could tell she was trying not to cry.

She brought back the pizza and set a plate with a single piece in front of me. "I know you don't feel good, but please try and take a few bites."

I picked up the plate, but my stomach flipped at the thought of taking a bite. I took a drink of water instead.

"Your sister called today," Mom said, her voice shaking.

I sucked in a breath.

My older sister, Addie, moved to Paris a year ago after her fiancée left her at the altar. It was the only thing she could do to regain her freedom in a way that worked for her. Mom and Dad were furious at first, and I was worried for her, but I came around when I realized how happy she was there. She had friends, great ones, and a boyfriend who made her smile more than anyone ever had before. Our parents weren't sure her choice was the right one, but the outright hostility had stopped, at least.

A few months ago, though, she stopped calling and hardly ever answered when we called her. She kept our talks short and impersonal. I was convinced something changed, but it was hard to tell with more than five thousand miles between us.

"What did she say?" I turned my head toward Mom. Even the slight movement felt exhausting.

"She wanted to see how you were doing. She said you didn't tell her about losing the baby."

I shrugged. "I didn't want to bother her."

"She was upset she didn't know," Mom said.

"It's not like she's ever around."

"Indy, there's a time difference."

I pulled my knees to my chest. "I'll call her tomorrow and tell her I'm okay."

Mom hummed in agreement. I looked down at the pizza on my plate and sighed deeply. I needed to eat something, even if it was only a couple bites. I picked up a piece and bit into it. My stomach flipped, but I managed to swallow once, twice, three times. It got easier with each bite I took. Before I knew it, I ate three whole pieces.

Mom dozed on my lounge chair. She usually went to bed early, so being awake at two in the morning had to be uncomfortable for her. Simultaneously, I appreciated her presence and hated myself for putting her through this.

Once she fell asleep, I rested my hand on my stomach. My eyes filled with tears again. My belly would not swell in a few weeks. There was no life growing inside me.

It was all my fault.

I reached for my phone, intending to text Addie and apologize. Instead, I saw two dozen texts from Jackson. They ranged from how much he loved me to threatening to come back and settle this in the morning to reminding me we would try again as soon as possible.

I turned the phone off.

I didn't want to try again.

I didn't want to talk to him or see him ever again.

I pushed myself off the couch and shuffled over to my mom, leaning down to nudge her shoulder. "Mom," I whispered.

She jumped awake with a strangled gasp. "What is it? Are you okay?"

I trembled. "Can we go to your house?"

Mom didn't hesitate. She nodded immediately and stood. I accepted the hug she offered me and wandered behind her while she packed my overnight bag and filled my water bottle. I appreciated that she didn't ask any questions. Her eyes lingered on the bruise on my cheek a little too long each time, though.

She held my hand and walked me down the apartment staircase to her car. As soon as she slid into the driver's seat, I gripped her hand again. My whole body shook. Mom kissed my knuckles gently. The entire ride home, she never let me go.

Half an hour later, I crawled into my childhood bed at my parents' house and fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.