Since Ronald already knew about my miscarriage, I figured there was no reason to stick around. With a heavy sigh, I headed upstairs to grab my things. As much as I cared about Ronald, I still had my pride.
I was in the middle of packing when the phone rang. It was my mother-in-law, Alma. I took a deep breath, steeling myself before I answered.
"Hey, Alma. It's not like you to call me out of the blue," I said, struggling to keep my voice from wavering.
Alma's voice was soft, almost too careful. "Colette, sweetheart, I just heard you had a miscarriage yesterday. What happened?"
I went quiet. How could I even begin to explain? I was terrified she might fall apart at the truth.
Catching my hesitation, Alma quickly changed the subject. "Honey, a miscarriage can really drain you. You've gotta take care of yourself—get some real rest, okay? Let me know if you need anything, anything at all. I already arranged for some supplements to be sent to your place. Promise me you'll take 'em."
A wave of warmth washed over me at her concern. "Thank you, Alma. I'm sorry to make you worry. I'll make sure to rest and take care of myself. Did Ron... say anything about it to you?"
"Oh, Ron didn't breathe a word. I actually heard it from Giovanna. She brought it up. You really should have told me yourself, sweetie. Something this big... I could've been there for you."
"It's fine, Alma. I've been resting up these past few days, and I'll be back on my feet in no time. Please, don't worry. I'll come see you more often, I promise..."
After I hung up, a surge of confusion hit me. Giovanna? Our nanny, Giovanna Hoffman? Why the hell would she just casually mention my miscarriage to Alma?
It was almost lunchtime, so I went looking for her, needing answers. But when I reached the dining room, the table was empty—bare.
I frowned. Lunch was always set by now.
Peeking into the living room, I spotted Giovanna sprawled on the couch, watching TV like she didn't have a care in the world. She didn't so much as twitch until our eyes locked. Then she got up and strolled over, slow and careless.
"Sorry, ma'am. I saw Mr. Ross wasn't home for lunch, so I didn't bother cooking. I can whip something up now, if you want..." Her tone was as casual as ever, almost mocking.
I gave her a long, hard look, but didn't say a word. Then I turned and made my way back upstairs, my chest tight with more than just grief.
