Curtis got back to the apartment and pushed the door hardly.
Diana flinched at the sudden noise, her hand still resting on the computer mouse. She had just hit send minutes ago. She turned in the office chair, watching him pace the living room, his phone now shoved in his pocket, his shirt untucked. He looked frantic, wild-eyed.
"Carla, baby, I'm leaving now," he had just said, his voice thick with panic. "Just hold on. I'm coming."
He finally looked at Diana, sitting in the glow of the monitor. His eyes were hard, his jaw clenched tight.
"Get up," he ordered. "You're coming with me."
Diana didn't move. "Why?"
"Because Carla is in the hospital," he snarled, striding into the office and grabbing her arm, hauling her to her feet. "She had a panic attack. She says it's because of the stress from the dinner tonight. She says you threatened her."
"I haven't spoken to Carla in weeks," Diana said, wincing as his grip tightened.
"I don't care!" he yelled. "She's bleeding, Diana. She might be losing my child, and it's your fault. You're going to come with me, and you're going to apologize to her. You're going to beg for her forgiveness."
The world tilted. Carla was claiming to be pregnant? And bleeding? The lies were so brazen, so perfectly crafted to manipulate him, that Diana could only stare in disbelief.
"I'm not going," Diana said, pulling her arm back. "I'm not apologizing for something I didn't do. And I'm not going to watch you fawn over a liar."
"You will do what I say!" Curtis roared. He didn't wait for her to agree. He grabbed her by the upper arm, his grip like a vise, and began dragging her toward the door. Her feet stumbled on the hardwood floor as she fought to keep her balance.
"Put me down!" Diana screamed, trying to dig her heels in, her free hand clawing at his. The jarring movement sent a stabbing pain through her abdomen, making her vision go white. "Curtis, please! I'm hurting!"
He ignored her. He half-carried, half-dragged her into the elevator, down to the garage, and shoved her into the passenger seat of his Bentley. He slammed the door and locked it from the driver's side.
The car roared out of the garage and onto the streets of Manhattan. It was late, the roads mostly empty, and Curtis drove like a madman, weaving through traffic.
Diana curled into a ball in the passenger seat, clutching her stomach. The pain was getting worse, a constant, throbbing ache that radiated down her legs. She felt weak, lightheaded, and the warmth between her legs was back. She was still bleeding.
Curtis was on the phone again, speaking to Carla's assistant, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "Yes, tell her I'm on my way. Tell her I love her. Make sure the best doctors are there."
Diana listened to him comfort another woman while she bled out beside him. The contrast was so stark, so painful, it was almost funny.
"Curtis," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please. Take me to a hospital. Not her hospital. Any hospital. I need a doctor."
Curtis glanced at her, his eyes cold in the dim light of the dashboard. "I'm not stopping, Diana. You can drop the act."
"It's not an act," she sobbed, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks. "I'm losing the baby. Our baby. Please, Curtis, I'm begging you."
"Shut up!" he shouted, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. "I am sick of your lies! You are not pregnant! You are just a jealous, bitter woman who can't stand to see Carla happy!"
The car swerved onto the Long Island Expressway. The lights of the city faded behind them, replaced by the dark, empty stretch of the highway.
Diana's breathing was ragged, each inhale a sharp knife in her chest. "Curtis, please... I'm in so much pain."
"Then suffer!" he yelled. He slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching as the car skidded to a halt on the shoulder of the highway. The force threw Diana forward against the seatbelt, the strap cutting into her neck and abdomen.
Curtis turned to her, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. "I am giving you one last chance. Shut your mouth, stop your crying, and come with me to apologize to Carla. Or get out of my car."
Diana stared at him. The interior of the car was quiet except for the ticking of the engine and her own ragged breaths. She looked past him, out the window. The highway was dark, the only light the harsh yellow of the streetlamps. The wind howled outside, shaking the car.
She looked back at him. His face was hard, unforgiving. There was no love there. There was no concern. There was only a demand for submission.
She didn't have any fight left. She didn't want to fight anymore.
"Okay," she said softly.
Curtis blinked, surprised by her quiet surrender. He had expected her to argue, to cry, to beg. "Okay, what?"
Diana reached for the seatbelt. Her fingers were numb, clumsy, but she managed to press the release button. The strap snapped back.
"I'll get out," she said.
She reached for the door handle. The lock clicked open.
Curtis stared at her, his eyes widening slightly. "What are you doing?"
"You said get out," she replied, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "So I'm getting out."
She pushed the door open. The cold night air rushed in, biting through her thin dress, making her shiver.
"Don't play games with me, Diana," Curtis warned, his voice tight. "Get back in the car."
She didn't look back. She stepped out onto the asphalt. The ground was unsteady beneath her heels, the wind whipping her hair across her face.
"I'm not playing, Curtis," she said, standing by the car door. "I'm done."
She pushed the door shut with a solid thunk.
Curtis sat in the driver's seat, staring at her through the closed window. He expected her to come crawling back. He expected her to realize how stupid she was being, standing on a highway in the middle of the night.
But Diana just stood there, her arms wrapped around her waist, her face pale and resolute in the glow of the headlights.
He let out a frustrated roar. He was done with her games. If she wanted to freeze, let her freeze.
He floored the accelerator. The Bentley shot forward, the force of the acceleration kicking up gravel that stung Diana's bare legs.
She watched the red taillights disappear into the darkness, the sound of the engine fading until it was just her and the wind.
She stood on the side of the Long Island Expressway, bleeding, freezing, and utterly alone. And for the first time in three years, she felt free.
She reached into her small clutch. Her phone was there. She pulled it out, the screen light blinding in the dark. She opened her email.
Sent: Divorce Proceedings Initiation - Diana Wilcox.
It was real. It was done.
She laughed, a broken sound that the wind stole away. She started to walk, her heels clicking on the asphalt, not knowing where she was going, only knowing she was never going back.
