Chapter 2

The days that followed were a blur of quiet packing and escalating torment.

Ethan was rarely home, off celebrating his impending fatherhood with Brittany.

When he was, his words were barbs, designed to remind me of my failure, my supposed inadequacy.

Brittany, emboldened, would flounce through the house, making snide remarks, her hand always protectively on her small, growing belly.

One afternoon, I was carrying a box of my old music scores down the wide staircase.

Fragile, yellowed paper, dreams I'd packed away long ago.

Brittany appeared at the bottom, blocking my path.

"Careful there, Sarah. Wouldn't want you to trip and hurt yourself. Or more importantly, damage the floors."

I ignored her, trying to step around.

She shifted, still in my way.

"Ethan's taking me to pick out a new car today," she said, voice dripping with false sweetness.

"Something safe for the baby. Unlike some people, he actually cares about his child's well-being."

The implication hung heavy in the air.

My miscarriages.

Ethan had always made me feel they were my fault.

Suddenly, she "stumbled," her shoulder bumping hard against me.

I lost my balance, the box flying from my hands.

Music sheets scattered.

I cried out, grabbing for the banister, my ankle twisting painfully.

"Oh, clumsy me!" Brittany said, not a trace of apology in her voice.

She stepped over the scattered music, grinding a heel into a page of Chopin.

Ethan walked in then, drawn by the noise.

He took in the scene – me on the stairs, wincing, Brittany looking innocently concerned.

"What happened?" he asked, his tone already accusatory towards me.

"Sarah fell, darling," Brittany said, rushing to his side.

"I tried to help her."

He didn't even look at me.

"Clean this mess up, Sarah. And try not to be so accident-prone."

Later that evening, I had to go out for some essential paperwork for the "divorce."

As I walked down the long driveway towards the gate, a car engine roared to life behind me.

Headlights pinned me.

It was Brittany, in a sleek new convertible, the one Ethan had just bought her.

She accelerated, the car coming straight at me.

I froze, a deer in headlights.

There was no time to react.

The impact threw me to the side, my head cracking against the stone pillar of the gate.

Pain exploded through me, white-hot, then a wave of nausea.

I lay there, dazed, a sharp, cramping pain starting in my abdomen.

Brittany got out of the car, heels clicking on the asphalt.

She looked down at me, her expression unreadable in the dim light.

"Oops," she said softly.

Then she got back in the car and drove away, leaving me there.

The cramping intensified.

I knew, with a sickening certainty, what was happening.

I was bleeding.

Another baby, lost.

This one, I hadn't even known about.

The irony was a bitter pill.

Somehow, I dragged myself back to the guesthouse.

Ethan found me hours later, pale and barely conscious.

He called his private doctor.

The miscarriage was confirmed.

Ethan's reaction?

A shrug.

"Probably for the best. Bad timing, anyway."

He seemed more annoyed by the inconvenience than anything else.

The next day, I was weak, confined to bed.

The doctor mentioned Brittany had suffered some minor scratches and bruises in her "accident" – she'd apparently swerved to "avoid an animal" and hit a bush after leaving me on the driveway.

She needed a small skin graft on her arm to prevent scarring.

Ethan came into my room.

"Sarah, Dr. Evans says you're a good match for Brittany's skin graft. It's a minor procedure. You won't even notice."

I stared at him, disbelieving.

"You want me to give my skin to the woman who... who did this to me?"

"Don't be dramatic," he snapped.

"She's carrying my child. Her well-being is paramount. It's a small patch of skin, Sarah. Consider it part of your... severance."

He didn't wait for an answer.

He simply informed the doctor it was settled.

They did it while I was sedated for "pain management."

I woke up with a raw, burning patch on my thigh and the knowledge that a piece of me was now part of Brittany.

Ethan had literally taken a pound of my flesh.