Chapter 2

Ava felt a cold draft from the clinic door as Ethan guided Izzy away.

She had wanted to say, "I just had an abortion, Ethan. Our baby."

The words were a lead weight on her tongue.

Just as she opened her mouth, Izzy, ever perceptive to a shift in emotional currents that might not favor her, had swayed.

"Ava, darling, you look so pale," Izzy had murmured, her hand fluttering to her own barely-there bump. "You must be exhausted from... everything. Ethan, we shouldn't keep her. She needs her rest."

She'd made it sound like Ava was merely tired from the public scandal, a sympathetic bystander to Izzy's drama.

Ethan, of course, had lapped it up.

"You're right, Iz. Ava, you're so understanding. Always thinking of others."

He'd smiled at her then, a brief, distracted smile that didn't reach his eyes.

As if Ava's "understanding" was a convenient trait he appreciated, not a testament to her silent suffering.

Ava had simply nodded, the unspoken words a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Actually," Izzy chirped, her energy miraculously restored, "the fresh air might do us all some good. There's that new little cafe that opened near the park. They have those ginger scones I've been craving. For the baby, you know." She patted her stomach again.

Ava felt a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with pregnancy.

She wanted to refuse, to go home and crawl into bed and never come out.

But her legs felt like lead, and the thought of arguing, of creating another scene, was too much.

Ethan, already solicitous of Izzy's slightest whim, agreed immediately. "Great idea, Iz. Ava, come on, it'll cheer you up."

She was swept along, a ghost in their two-person play.

The cafe was bright, noisy.

Izzy chattered animatedly, recounting some trivial social gossip, while Ethan hung on her every word.

Ava sipped her water, the clatter of cups and voices a dull roar in her ears.

Her lower abdomen throbbed with a dull, persistent ache.

Izzy, mid-sentence, suddenly gasped, pressing a hand to her temple.

"Oh, a little dizzy spell. Ethan, darling, could you get me one of those fancy lemonades? The one with the mint?"

He was up in an instant, solicitous, his brow furrowed with concern. "Of course, Iz. Anything you need."

Ava watched him at the counter, his focus entirely on Izzy's request.

He was so easily played.

They were leaving the cafe, Ethan's arm securely around Izzy, when it happened.

A sudden, jarring screech of tires, then a loud crash from the street.

A delivery truck, attempting a sharp turn, had clipped a poorly secured decorative chandelier hanging from the awning of the building next door.

The heavy glass and metal structure swayed precariously, then began to fall.

It was heading right for Ethan.

"Ethan, look out!" Izzy screamed, and with a surprising burst of energy, she dramatically shoved him.

He stumbled sideways, out of the direct path.

Izzy let out a theatrical cry as a piece of falling debris grazed her arm, drawing a thin line of blood.

The chandelier crashed to the sidewalk with a deafening shatter.

Ethan's face was white with panic.

"Izzy! Oh my god, Izzy, are you hurt?"

He didn't even glance at Ava, who had been standing right beside him.

He scooped Izzy into his arms, her "injured" arm held carefully.

"We need to get you to a hospital! Now!"

In his haste, he barged past Ava, his shoulder knocking her hard.

She stumbled, her head hitting the brick wall of the cafe with a sickening thud.

A sharp pain shot through her skull, and she saw stars.

She slid down the wall, her hand coming away from her temple wet and sticky.

Blood.

Through a dizzying haze, she watched Ethan race down the street with Izzy in his arms, his panicked shouts fading into the city noise.

He hadn't even noticed.

A wave of dizziness washed over her.

Her head throbbed.

She touched the growing lump, wincing as her fingers came away stained crimson.

Ethan's promise, whispered years ago on a windswept beach: "I'll always protect you, Ava. No matter what, I'll be there."

The words echoed in her mind, a hollow, mocking refrain.

He hadn't protected her from the invaders, from the slander, from Izzy.

He hadn't even protected her from himself.

He was too busy protecting Izzy, the perpetual victim.

The irony was a bitter pill. He'd rushed to save the woman who'd orchestrated a fake injury, leaving the woman who truly needed him bleeding against a wall.

Slowly, painfully, Ava pushed herself to her feet.

The world tilted, then steadied.

Alone, she started the slow, agonizing walk to the nearest emergency room.

Each step was a fresh wave of pain, both physical and emotional.

He hadn't even looked back.