"Bea's already forgiven you, and Mildred said she won't hold it against you. Let's just drop it."
He reached up to stroke my hair.
His fingers grazed the stains and pulled back instantly.
"Go clean yourself up."
"Oscar."
I watched his retreating back and drew a deep breath.
"Tomorrow is my wedding."
His footsteps halted. He spun around, his patience visibly spent.
"You know perfectly well that every time Bea has an episode, someone has to watch her for a full week. How am I supposed to have time to marry you tomorrow?"
"Janet, can you try being a little more considerate?"
I stared at him, expressionless.
"I'm informing you. I'm not asking."
His face darkened.
"Stop being unreasonable. I told you, I don't have time tomorrow."
"If you want to throw a wedding with no groom, be my guest. The only ones who'll be humiliated are you and your parents."
I clenched my fists and held his gaze.
"My wedding doesn't need you."
He actually laughed.
"Janet, who else would ever marry you?"
The words had barely left his mouth when a loud crash came from the nursery.
My blood ran cold. I crossed the hallway in quick strides and pushed open the door.
Stuffed animals that had been arranged neatly on the shelf were scattered across the floor. The tiny clothes my mother had sewn by hand were cut to ribbons. Beatrice sat on the children's bed my father had built.
Shards of a shattered jar and fine gray powder lay at Mildred's feet.
She blinked her tear-filled eyes, her face a portrait of helplessness and fear.
"I accidentally broke this jar."
Oscar strode past me, shoving me aside in the doorway, and took Mildred's hands in his.
"Mildred, are you hurt?"
Mildred's gaze drifted over Oscar's shoulder and landed on me. A smirk flickered across her lips.
I knew she had done it on purpose.
But I still couldn't stop myself from lunging forward and slapping her across the face.
Mildred clutched her reddening cheek, her voice dripping with wounded innocence.
"I'm sorry. I just saw dust on the jar and wanted to wipe it clean. I never thought it would slip. I really didn't mean to..."
Oscar seized my arm and forced me toward Mildred, trying to make me bow my head.
"Janet, you've gone too far. Apologize!"
"Oscar, that was our child!"
Two years ago, Oscar and I had a baby.
What Mildred shattered was the urn holding our baby's ashes.
Beatrice, catching a silent cue from Mildred, clapped her hands over her ears and ran screaming from the room.
"Bea!"
Mildred chased after her.
Oscar's expression was ugly.
"Look what you've done! The dead aren't more important than the living. Was hitting her really necessary?"
I stared into his eyes, unable to believe what I was hearing.
"Oscar, you know what this nursery means to me. That was your child. How could you possibly—"
"Janet!"
He cut me off, his voice like a blade.
"If you hadn't bullied Bea this afternoon, would I have needed to bring her here to calm her down? Everything I've done has been to make up for your mistakes."
Just then, Mildred's sobbing drifted in from outside.
Oscar panicked instantly. He wrenched my arm free and bolted for the door.
I wasn't braced for it. I fell hard, my forehead striking the floor. Darkness swallowed my vision.
And in that darkness, a memory surged forward—the torrential rainstorm two years ago.
A single phone call from Mildred had pulled Oscar away, leaving me standing on the side of the road in the downpour, five months pregnant.
A drunk driver barreled straight into me.
That night, Oscar knelt beside my hospital bed, slapping himself across the face over and over, begging me to forgive him.
