Someone kicked my pregnant belly at the hospital.
The whole thing got taken down to the station, and just as the man who'd done it was about to try for a settlement,
my husband arrived.
He glanced at the bloodstain on my dress,
then lifted his wrist to check his watch.
"It's nothing serious."
"I signed the settlement waiver for you. Go on back. The family dinner starts in half an hour. Don't be late."
Silas Sheridan cared about nothing.
Throw him a birthday party, and he'd say I was making trouble out of thin air.
Morning sickness in my pregnancy, and he'd tell me to get over it on my own.
He ignored the holidays, bought no gifts, and left the crib for his assistant to pick out.
I'd only seen him show any feeling twice.
Once on our wedding day, when he smiled at me for a long while, and once after the pregnancy was confirmed, when he was so flustered he forgot to hold an international conference call.
I thought it was a good beginning.
But yesterday, Silas suddenly asked me what I wanted for my birthday.
I followed him in secret, and in an alley I saw him,
sleeves rolled up, eyes rimmed red, driving his fist into a man's face, blow after blow.
The girl beside him clung tightly to his waist,
crying, begging him to calm down.
I rolled down the car window and saw clearly the way Silas's arm trembled with rage.
And it hit me then that whether his feelings ran cold or blazed hot
really came down to whether he cared.
……
When Silas finally stopped, blood was dripping from his knuckles.
He gave the man on the ground one cold glance,
then pulled the girl into his arms.
"As long as I'm here, I won't let you get so much as a scratch."
I stared at the owner of that hand,
and when I looked up again, memory and present bled into each other,
Silas half-turned toward me and asked.
"Why haven't you left yet?"
Behind me, the man who'd kicked me slapped his thigh with a sneer,
telling the friends around him,
"See? I said this woman was here to shake us down for money. If something were really wrong, would her husband not care?"
"A woman like this needs a firm hand!"
Another burst of grating laughter.
The automatic doors slid shut, and Silas got into the car a step ahead of me.
He didn't ask whether it hurt.
Instead he tossed a bag of clothes at me.
"Change into these in the car later. My mother can't stand the sight of blood."
"Do you really not care at all?"
I pressed down the stabbing pain in my belly
and spoke almost at the same moment he did.
Surprise surfaced in Silas's eyes, as if he hadn't expected me to say that.
"Aren't you fine, though?"
That answer again.
Bitterness spread through my mouth, and I almost wanted to laugh.
When I slipped on a rainy day and twisted my ankle, he'd driven past me,
and it was the same line, 'You look fine to me.'
Our fifth wedding anniversary, booked with him a month ahead, and still I waited until the candles burned all the way down,
only to get, 'I thought you didn't care about it.'
Silas's palm settled over the back of my hand.
"If you're still not feeling well, go to the hospital tomorrow and get it checked."
"The reason I said that just now was only because I think the baby in your belly is strong."
I wanted to say no.
After my last fall, the doctor had told me this pregnancy would be dangerous,
that in all likelihood I wouldn't be able to keep it.
It was I who begged him to prescribe the medicine, saying I'd take good care of myself, that the baby's father would look after me too.
But now this child was probably one I couldn't carry to term.
What can't be kept can never be kept.
I drew my hand back and rifled through the clothes in the bag.
They weren't new. They were the same outfit that girl in the alley had been wearing yesterday.
I let go of every ounce of strength in me,
lifted my head, and said to Silas.
"After dinner tonight, there's something I want to tell you."
Silas waited outside the car for me to change,
and when I opened the door, I was still in that first outfit, the hem crusted with bloodstains long since dried and darkened.
"Why didn't you change?" Silas frowned.
