Roxan tried to withdraw her hand, but Vince firmly held it in his grasp.
“Don’t move,” he commanded, carefully examining her injured hands. His face darkened upon seeing how deeply the glass shards were embedded. “There’s a first-aid kit in the living room. I’ll treat the wounds for now, but we’ll need to go to the hospital. Your body still hasn’t fully recovered since your bout with COVID; we can’t risk a bacterial infection.”
Tears welled up in Roxan’s eyes as she nodded obediently, like a frightened rabbit, allowing him to carry her out.
The door slammed shut behind them with a loud thud.
The room returned to silence, but Gianna’s pain surged with greater intensity after hearing Vince’s final words. She clutched her lower abdomen with trembling fingers, barely able to contain her anguish.
The obstetrician had explained that her baby’s miscarriage was primarily caused by the immune imbalance brought on by her high fever. Many similar cases had occurred in recent years due to the pandemic. Despite her cautiousness about her diet and surroundings, she had still been infected.
Now, she understood the source of that infection.
Half a month ago, Roxan had hosted Vince’s birthday dinner, preparing a spread of spicy dishes. Gianna, then in the throes of pregnancy nausea, stuck to plain rice.
“Gianna, why aren’t you eating? These dishes are really good,” Roxan had said, unusually enthusiastic, even placing a piece of spicy chicken in Gianna’s bowl.
Gianna didn’t want to eat it and was about to move it aside when Vince’s face darkened.
“It’s just one bite. You used to love spicy food. What now, have your tastes changed?”
She wanted to tell him about her pregnancy but froze under his cold, indifferent gaze.
She picked up the piece of chicken, took a bite, then spat it out. “Mediocre,” she said flatly before resuming her silent meal.
Roxan didn’t seem to mind. She and Vince chatted and laughed throughout dinner, as though Gianna were invisible.
During the meal, Roxan coughed several times, claiming her throat felt itchy and that she was “fighting poison with poison.” At the time, Gianna thought it was due to the spiciness of the food. In hindsight, it was likely the early stages of her illness.
Whether Roxan’s actions were deliberate or accidental, only she knew.
The warmth of postpartum bleeding now trickled down—a cruel farewell from her baby. Gianna’s heart felt as though it were being shredded. Her child could have been born healthy, but fate had other plans.
Both she and Vince were to blame.
They didn’t deserve to be parents, and that was why their child chose to leave.
That night, Gianna drifted into a restless, tearful sleep. In her dreams, she saw her mother.
Her mother stood in a beautiful estate, holding a tiny infant in her arms. She gently wiped away Gianna’s tears and said softly, “What happened with the baby was destiny. Some bonds can’t be forced. Perhaps he left early to save you from further suffering.”
“Gia, starting tomorrow, live for yourself.”
With those words, her mother, Evelyn, holding the baby, faded into the light and disappeared.
Gianna woke with a start in the middle of the night, her pillow soaked with tears. Yet her mind was clearer than it had been in a long time.
Life was about moving forward, not looking back.
She reached into her nightstand drawer and retrieved her diary, flipping through its pages. Inside were records of her life with Vince—how they met, fell in love, and the gradual accumulation of disappointment and heartbreak. Each entry felt like a stab to the heart, a torment akin to living in purgatory.
She threw the diary into the bottom drawer, slamming it shut as though that would bury the pain along with it.
At six o’clock the next morning, she rose from bed.
Her spirits felt steadier, and the ache in her lower abdomen had subsided to a manageable level. She began methodically packing her belongings.
Thankfully, Vince had refused to take wedding photos with her when they married. Otherwise, she’d have more to sort through.
After packing her everyday clothes, she hesitated when she turned to the back of her closet. There sat over a dozen luxury handbags, gifts from Michelle. All high-end designer pieces, their opulence didn’t match Gianna’s understated style, so she had barely used them.
