The fireworks kept shifting shapes, and at the very end they formed a smiling face. Below it, a line of words:
“Happy Birthday, Little Lydia.”
The whole production was massive. Everyone in the city could see it.
I lay curled on the floor, unable to tell if what I felt was envy or jealousy. All I knew was that something inside my chest kept throbbing, wave after wave.
I gritted my teeth through the pain, fumbled for my phone, and called 911 myself.
The doctor studied my chart, then looked at me. His tone wasn't kind.
“You just had a pregnancy termination. Why aren't you resting? You're this run-down and you're out walking around? Do you have a death wish?”
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I managed a weak smile.
When the IV was done, I braced myself against the wall and shuffled toward the exit.
I had barely reached the door of the treatment room when Ferris burst in carrying Lydia.
“Doctor! Nurse! She fell! Someone look at her, now!”
The panic on Ferris's face was something I had never seen before.
A passing doctor walked over and glanced at her.
“It's just a scrape. A little first aid and she'll be fine.”
Ferris's voice turned sharp.
“You're making a diagnosis without even running tests? If something happens to her, can you take responsibility?”
The doctor flinched at being yelled at and ordered a full-body workup for Lydia.
I looked down at the needle mark on the back of my hand, tugged my sleeve over it, and turned to leave the hospital.
Back home, I stood in the living room, looking around the place I'd lived in for six years.
This mansion was the home Ferris and I moved into after our wedding.
However much I had looked forward to it back then was exactly how ridiculous it felt now.
Every inch of the decor reflected his taste. Gray and white tones, minimalist design. Not a trace of warmth anywhere.
The first day we moved in, I bought a bouquet of fresh flowers and put them in a vase. The next morning they were in the trash. He said he was allergic to pollen.
I had lived here for six years, yet I had never stopped feeling like a stranger.
Ferris and I had always slept in separate rooms.
Only when I was ovulating would he push open my door and go through the motions of being a husband. The moment it was over he got up and left. He never stayed the night.
Every time I heard his bedroom door close on the other side of the hall, I would lie there wondering whether he had ever, even once, thought of me as his wife.
Forget it. No point thinking about it.
I sat down on the couch and pulled the bottle of antibiotics from my bag.
The front door lock clicked.
Ferris stood in the doorway, Lydia leaning against his arm.
He noticed the pill bottle in my hand and frowned slightly.
“You sick?”
Before I could answer, Lydia covered her nose and took half a step back.
“What is that smell?”
Ferris glanced at the bottle in my hand. A flicker of irritation crossed his voice.
“It's a minor thing. Don't stink up the whole house with medicine.”
I froze for a second, then put the bottle away and nodded.
“Fine.”
Only then did Lydia lower her hand. She flashed me a smile.
“Ms. Lambert, my lease is up. Mr. Farley said I could stay here for a few days.”
I looked at Ferris.
His expression didn't waver.
“Lydia hurt her foot, and some creeps have been harassing her. She has nowhere to go. I didn't feel right leaving her on her own, so I told her to stay here for a bit.”
I was silent for a few seconds.
He'd already decided. There was no reason to tell me.
Late that night, a noise jolted me awake.
I opened my eyes. Every light downstairs was on, the glare sharp enough to make me squint.
I walked to the top of the stairs and looked down. Lydia was pressed against Ferris's chest.
“There's thunder outside. I'm so scared.”
Ferris poured a glass of warm water and patted her back gently.
“Don't be scared. I'm here.”
Lydia was wearing a pink nightgown. I stared at it a moment longer and felt a prick of recognition.
A few seconds passed before it came to me.
