Chapter 1 I LOST IT

Evelyn's POV

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Blood was not supposed to be part of this story. Not today. Not like this.

I sat on the cold bathroom floor, my knees pulled tightly to my chest, my arms shaking. The white tiles beneath me were stained red. The pain in my lower stomach came in waves, sharp and cruel. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just sat there, rocking slowly like a child trying to calm herself.

I was losing my baby.

Our baby.

A tiny life that had barely begun, now slipping away without a sound. No heartbeat. No chance.

I didn't know what to do. I should've gone to the hospital. I should've called an ambulance. But I didn't want strangers. I wanted him.

I reached for my phone on the counter, my hand smearing blood across the screen as I unlocked it with shaking fingers.

Damian.

His name was still saved as My Love.

I hit call.

It rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then finally-

"Yeah?" His voice was calm. Distant. Like I had interrupted something.

I pressed the phone to my ear, my lip trembling. "I... I lost it," I whispered. A long silence.

I waited.

And then, he sighed.

"Evelyn... I'm with Lillian right now. She needs me."

I froze.

He didn't ask if I was okay. Didn't ask where I was. If I needed help. Nothing.

"She needs you?" I asked softly, my voice barely holding together. "I'm your wife. I'm losing our baby."

"She's going through something. I'll check in later, okay?"

Then I heard it-Lillian's voice, light and sweet in the background.

"Who are you talking to, Damian?"

And his answer, sharp and final.

"No one."

Then the line went dead.

I didn't even realize I had dropped the phone until I heard it hit the floor. The crack echoed through the bathroom like a gunshot.

I stared at the screen, now broken, lying face-down beside my blood-soaked knees. No one.

That's what I was to him.

No one.

The call ended.

The screen went dark. No one.

I don't know how long I sat there, staring at the broken phone. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. Everything moved in slow motion.

The blood between my legs had cooled. My thighs were sticky. The ache in my stomach had faded into a deep, dull emptiness.

I was cold. So cold.

I looked down at the towels I had tried to wedge beneath me. Useless. They were soaked through. Red everywhere. The floor. My hands. The hem of my nightdress. My baby was gone, and all I had left was a mess I had to clean myself.

There was no one coming.

No arms to carry me. No soft words to soothe me. No voice saying, "You're not alone."

I reached for the edge of the counter and pulled myself up. My legs shook, but I didn't let myself fall. I couldn't afford to fall.

Damian wasn't coming.

I took off the stained nightdress. Moved like a ghost under the harsh white lights. My hands trembled as I wiped the floor. I scrubbed and scrubbed, tears blurring my vision until all I saw was red. Red on tile. Red on skin. Red in the sink.

I threw the towels into the basket. Ran a bath. Sat in the steaming water with my arms wrapped around my knees, my forehead resting on them.

I didn't cry.

Tears would've made it real.

I stayed in that tub until the water went cold. Until my skin puckered and my fingers turned pale and wrinkled.

I got out, dried myself, changed into fresh clothes. Slower than I ever had in my life. Then I opened the linen closet. Pulled out clean towels. Bleached the floor.

I wiped every trace of it away. Every drop. Every memory.

It didn't happen. If I could erase the evidence, maybe it didn't happen.

By the time I was done, it was past two in the morning. My body was screaming at me to rest. But I didn't want to lie down. I didn't want to close my eyes and dream of what could've been.

Still, I made tea. The same kind I used to drink when I was pregnant and nauseous. It sat untouched on the table.

I sat beside it in silence.

I waited.

Not for him.

For the numbness to go deep enough so it wouldn't hurt anymore.

I don't know when I fell asleep. My head dropped against the chair. My arms wrapped around my stomach, as if I could hold the baby that was no longer there.

And when I woke to the sound of the door opening... it wasn't hope I felt. It was shame.

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The next morning, the pain had dulled, but the emptiness stayed.

I moved slowly around the apartment. The same apartment where we once laughed, where he once kissed me against the kitchen counter, where I once believed he loved me.

I cleaned the bathroom in silence. I didn't cry. I couldn't.

The smell of bleach mixed with the coppery scent of blood. I washed every towel, threw away the test I had saved-the one that read positive in soft pink lines. I had planned to surprise him. I even bought tiny white baby shoes.

They were still hidden in my closet.

By evening, I was sitting at the table with a cup of untouched tea. The clock ticked past ten. Damian still wasn't home.

I thought about texting him. Asking if he was okay. But what would I say?

"Did Lillian need you again?"

"Do you still remember I exist?"

"Do you know what it feels like to lose a child while lying alone in a pool of blood?"

No.

I wouldn't text.

I had already reached out. He'd already let me fall.

The door finally opened at 10:43 p.m.

He walked in like everything was normal. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, the top buttons undone. He looked... relaxed. Like he had a good evening.

His eyes barely flicked to me.

"Hey," he said, dropping his keys on the counter.

I stared at him. Said nothing.

He sniffed. "Something smells weird in here."

I swallowed, tightening my fingers around the mug.

That smell was bleach. And blood. And heartbreak.

"I cleaned the bathroom," I said softly.

He didn't respond.

Just shrugged off his jacket and walked down the hall toward our bedroom. His bedroom now. I hadn't slept there in days.

The door clicked shut behind him.

I sat in silence.

And that's when it hit me.

He never asked.

He never asked how I was. Never mentioned the baby. Never said a word about what I'd told him.

As if it never happened.

As if I never happened.

I slowly rose from the table and walked to the bedroom door. My hand hovered over the handle.

But I didn't knock.

I turned and walked to the guest room.

My bed now.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the silence pressing heavy against my chest.

My hand drifted to my stomach.

Empty.

Gone.

And just before my eyes closed, I heard the faint sound of a woman's laugh... coming from down the hall.