I didn't sleep.
I sat by the window with my hand on my stomach and watched London turn from black to gray. The onesie was still in my bag. I couldn't look at it. I couldn't throw it away either.
At seven, I called down for a bellhop. I wanted to be gone before the city fully woke up. I wanted to be on a plane, in the air, above the clouds where no one could reach me.
At seven forty, someone knocked on the door.
I thought it was the bellhop. I opened it without checking.
Kali stood in the hallway.
She was already dressed for the day. Cream cashmere, pearl earrings, hair pulled back the way she used to wear it during finals week in college. The only new thing was the ring. She held her left hand loose at her side, the way you hold something you know people are looking at.
"Hadley," she said. Her voice was soft. Almost hurt. "Can I come in?"
I didn't move out of the doorway.
She took that in with a small, patient smile. "Okay. That's okay. I'll say it here."
I pressed my thumb to the inside of my wrist.
"I know how this must look," she said. "I know what you must think of me. Of us." Her hand rose to her collarbone. The ring caught the hallway light and threw a bright, shaking spot onto the wall beside my face. "But please believe me when I say I didn't plan any of this. It just… happened. Slowly. And then all at once."
I stayed quiet.
She waited for me to speak. When I didn't, she tilted her head, the way she used to when she wanted a professor to think she was listening deeply.
"I've been thinking about you all night," she said. "I couldn't sleep. I kept imagining what I'd want, if it were me. And I think—" A tiny breath, staged perfectly. "I think what I'd want is a chance to leave with my dignity intact. Before it gets worse."
Her hand moved again. The ring flashed again. She didn't look at it. She didn't need to.
"You could go home," she said gently. "Quietly. Move on. There's a whole life waiting for you back in New York, Hadley. You were always so good at starting over."
Good at starting over.
I almost laughed.
"Don't drag this out," she said, softer now. "Don't make yourself smaller than you are. Dorian—" She stopped, as if the name cost her something. "He's not going to change his mind. And you're stronger than this."
I looked at her. Really looked. The same face I'd shared a bathroom with for two years. The same girl who'd cried on my shoulder at graduation and told me I was the sister she'd never had.
I thought about the baby. My hand almost went to my stomach. I stopped it.
I wasn't going to give her that. Not one inch of it.
"Thank you for stopping by," I said.
Her smile faltered for the first time. Just a flicker. A crack at the corner of her mouth.
"Hadley—"
I shut the door.
I stood on my side of it with my palm flat against the wood. I could hear her breathing on the other side. Then heels on carpet, walking away. Slow. Then faster.
I didn't cry. I didn't shake. I felt something quiet settle in my chest, cold and clean, like a stone dropping into deep water.
I packed in fifteen minutes.
---
I was zipping my case when I heard her voice again in the hallway. Not close. Around the corner, near the elevators. I froze without meaning to.
"—the lobby," she was saying. Low. Nothing like the voice she'd used at my door. "Yes. Tomorrow morning. Early enough that there are people. Not so early that there aren't."
A pause.
"I don't care how it looks. I want it to look bad. I want everyone in that lobby to see it and remember it."
Another pause. Shorter.
"She's small. It won't take much."
My hand was still on the zipper. I couldn't move.
"Send men who know how," she said. "And don't leave a mark on the face if you can help it. I don't want her looking pitiful in the photos. I want her looking cheap."
The elevator chimed. Her heels clicked in. The doors closed.
I stood very still in the middle of my room, with my hand on a suitcase, and listened to my own heartbeat.
For a long moment I told myself I'd heard wrong. That it was a hotel arrangement. A vendor. Anything.
I knew I hadn't heard wrong.
I sat down on the edge of the bed. My legs felt light and far away. My other hand, without asking me, drifted to my stomach and rested there, flat and warm and protective.
"It's okay," I whispered. I didn't know who I was talking to. The baby. Myself. Some part of me that was already understanding what the rest of me hadn't caught up to yet. "It's okay. We're going home. We're going home right now."
I stood up. I picked up the phone by the bed and asked the front desk to have my bags brought down. I asked them to call a car.
I didn't ask them to walk me through the lobby.
I told myself the lobby was a public place. It was full daylight. It was one of the finest hotels in London.
I told myself I would be fine.
I pressed my thumb, hard, against the inside of my wrist.
