"Naomi, they just came to see the baby out of kindness. Why do you always have to twist everything and assume the worst about people?"
"Charity's right. You women are all the same—overthinking, petty, making mountains out of nothing."
My nails dug into my palms until it hurt. I swallowed the pain and was about to say something when I saw Charity's hand moving again.
She'd already undone the second button on my daughter's onesie.
"Stop!"
I screamed and lunged toward her, but a pair of large hands clamped down on my shoulders, pinning me in place.
Brendan looked at me with cold, flat eyes. Disappointment. As if to say: Can you stop being so dramatic for once?
Charity drank in the fury and desperation on my face. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile.
"Relax, sis. I'll be gentle. I won't wake your little girl."
Click. Her nail flicked open the last button.
I could only watch—helpless, frozen—as Charity lifted my baby's legs and exposed her to the room full of men.
Tyler, the crudest of them all, leered with open amusement. His hand actually started to reach out—
Something inside me snapped.
I opened my mouth and sank my teeth into Brendan's hand. Deep. Until I tasted iron.
He hissed in pain, and his grip loosened.
I threw myself forward, using my body as a shield to block that reaching hand, to block all those mocking eyes from my daughter.
Looking down at Sophia's peaceful sleeping face, I finally broke. Tears spilled over, hot and uncontrollable.
The violent movement had torn something inside me. Pain ripped through my lower abdomen, and I felt warmth spreading—blood soaking through my hospital gown, seeping into the sheets beneath me.
I didn't feel it. I couldn't afford to.
I slapped Charity's hand away with a coldness that surprised even me. Carefully, deliberately, I fastened each button on my daughter's clothes. Smoothed the blanket over her. Tucked the edges in.
Only then did I wipe my face and turn to face them, my voice raw with hatred.
"Get out. All of you. Get out."
They looked to Brendan. These people had never liked me, never respected me. They certainly weren't going to take orders from me.
Not until Brendan gave them a slight nod did they finally shuffle toward the door, interest fading now that the show was over. Charity went with them, her smile lingering.
I saw Brendan glance down at the bloody bite mark on his hand, hesitating. He turned toward the door—probably to find a nurse.
I spoke to his back, my voice cutting through the silence.
"I'm calling the police."
He stopped in the doorway.
When he turned around, he looked at me like I was a lunatic throwing a tantrum over nothing.
"I'm calling the police," I repeated, holding his gaze. "Everything that happened today—I'm going to the station and giving them a full statement."
Everything. Including what he had done to me.
Our eyes locked. When he saw I wasn't bluffing, his expression darkened.
He strode back to me, his voice cold as winter.
"Naomi. I told you. It was just a joke."
"If you didn't like it, just pretend it didn't happen. Move on."
"To me," I said through clenched teeth, "this was humiliation. This was being treated like I'm nothing."
I bit down hard on my lower lip, refusing to look away.
My defiance seemed to catch him off guard. For a moment, something flickered across his face—confusion, maybe. Or annoyance that I wasn't backing down.
The silence stretched until Charity's voice floated in from the hallway.
"Brendan! Come on, Tyler and the guys set up drinks. They want to celebrate with you!"
That snapped him out of it. He called back an acknowledgment.
Then he looked at me again. And smiled.
"Fine. Go ahead. Report it."
He took a step closer, his voice dropping.
"But think carefully, Naomi. You're my wife."
"Everything about you—I can share with whoever I want. The law can't touch me for that."
He tossed out those words like they weighed nothing at all. Then he turned and walked out.
I stood frozen, the inside of my cheek raw and bleeding where I'd bitten through it.
Cold. I felt cold all the way to my bones.
For the next week, Brendan didn't come to the hospital once.
Not to see me. Not to see his daughter.
I asked the nurses to help me hire a caregiver, then called my parents overseas.
The day I was discharged, they rushed back, exhaustion etched into their faces. Mom pulled me into her arms, her eyes red-rimmed with worry.
Once everything was packed up, I walked out of the hospital room—and that's when Brendan's message came through. He'd been MIA for nearly two weeks.
"Getting discharged today? I'll pick you up. Got a surprise for you and the baby."
I ran my thumb over the USB drive in my pocket, then calmly let the screen go dark.
Perfect timing.
I had a "surprise" for him too.
