"This miscarriage should be my turn," Julie pouted, her voice dripping with petulance. "You handled the first two. I should get the next two. That's only fair!"
Piers pinched her nose and smiled. "Whatever you want."
I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, swallowing the scream clawing up my throat.
Every miscarriage had been orchestrated. Every single one.
The bone-deep agony of losing my children was nothing more than a scoreboard in their sick little game.
During the car accident that caused my third miscarriage, I had seen Julie. I knew I'd seen her.
But when I woke up, Piers swore my memory was scrambled from the trauma.
And I believed him. I believed he would never lie to me about something like that.
Reality delivered the cruelest blow imaginable.
He hadn't just lied. He was the one who murdered my children.
Piers leaned down and pressed his lips to Julie's belly, his eyes shining with a tenderness I had never once seen directed at me.
"Once she signs the divorce papers, we'll be a real family of three."
Julie let out a derisive laugh. "That idiot signs whatever you put in front of her. Asset transfer agreements, the consent form to withdraw her mother's life support. All of it."
Something detonated inside my skull.
Five years ago, Julie had run my mother down and left her in a vegetative state.
I had poured every ounce of myself into caring for her, but two years later her organs failed and she was gone.
On all those sleepless nights when I lay awake drowning in guilt, convinced I hadn't done enough, it was Piers who held me close and told me it wasn't my fault.
Now they were telling me her death was their design too.
He tricked me into signing away my mother's life.
Rage and despair shattered every last thread of restraint. I slammed the door open, seized Julie's wrist, and squeezed. "Say that again. Was it true?"
Julie shrieked. "Geraldine! You're hurting me!"
Piers's expression darkened. He shoved me away without hesitation.
My lower back cracked against the edge of the table. White-hot pain shot up my spine.
He looked down at me with undisguised irritation. "Geraldine. Stop making a scene."
"Making a scene?" My voice shook. "Then explain. The consent form to withdraw life support. My babies. Were you two behind all of it? And weren't you supposed to be in a car accident?"
"You've been too anxious lately. You're having delusions." Piers furrowed his brow, his concern as convincing as it was hollow. "Losing the baby devastated me just as much as it did you. And there was no consent form. That never happened."
"As for the accident," he sighed, the picture of patient indulgence, "you ruined the surprise, but I know you didn't mean to. I don't blame you."
His gaze was steady and open, as though I were the unreasonable one.
So this was how he saw me. Even caught red-handed, he was certain I was stupid enough to be talked out of what I'd heard with my own ears.
Tears spilled before I could stop them. A second later, a vicious cramp tore through my lower abdomen.
The familiar terror of miscarriage flooded every nerve. "The baby... call an ambulance!"
Piers's voice turned cold and accusing. "This is exactly why you can never carry to term. You're too impulsive."
"No..." The pain shredded my words. Warmth spread between my legs, and I looked down to see blood.
His pupils contracted. Finally, with a reluctant frown, he reached for his phone.
But Julie let out a wail. "Piers! My stomach hurts so badly. Did Geraldine push me? Is that why—"
The color drained from his face. He hurled the phone aside. "I'm taking you to the hospital!"
He scooped her into his arms and bolted for the door. He never looked back.
But I saw his face before he turned. The panic. The anguish. All of it real.
None of it for me.
The door slammed shut, and the last fragile shard of hope inside me shattered into dust.
We were both at risk of losing a pregnancy. For me, he had nothing but blame and impatience. For Julie, he gave every ounce of worry and devotion he possessed.
Through the blinding pain, hatred kept me conscious. I dragged my phone closer and dialed emergency services, then called my attorney.
"Draw up a divorce agreement. And hire someone to investigate Piers Stephens." My voice trembled, but it did not waver. "One week. That's all I need to take everything he has."
