For all the right reasons

The story of Nia Edwards began with a single word.

Love.

To Some People, it was the most secure feeling. It was avid, a sentiment unable to be characterized by words-something pure, painful, sweet, and dreadful all at once. To others, it was constraining. It was Shakespearean and delusional-a possibility full of drama-limiting as it was expensive. But Nia never saw it as any of these. To her, loving meant giving her body, heart, and soul-it meant giving her all and It might have been ideally delusional but she'd always been the sort to love naively.

Who could blame her?

Growing up as a colored girl in a white man's city wasn't as lenient as one would think it was and after being thrown out into the streets by her foster father who had constantly tried but failed to get between her thighs, she'd been left stranded, with nothing but her persistence, strong will, and high hopes for a better tomorrow.

Life became hard and living was a daily struggle but somehow, when Vincent came into the picture, things changed.

She remembered the rain falling heavily that day. It was a Sunday evening and the icy grey sky grumbled restlessly, turning the light 'pitter-patter' of water into loud gregarious booms of thunder. She remembered the smell of moist earth and rotting food tossed by the side of the road where the flies hummed. She remembered shivering to a cold so potent that it felt as though her bloodstream had turned ice.

She had curled herself up behind the vegetable store, bone-deep exhaustion and grief overtaking her as her sobs muffled into wet tears that mixed with the roaring rain. All night, she'd sat there chanting a silent prayer, wishing for some kind of dues ex Machina- for a savior and then, as if sent by God himself, Vincent showed up, covering her with his umbrella and looking down at her with those bright green eyes that set fire to the ice in her heart.

She hadn't met this man before but he'd taken her home, given her fresh clothes, and fed her with a tasty meal. At that moment of vulnerability, he'd become her savior, her haven, her lifeline. she'd fallen in love with him, vowed her soul to him. But the thing is... You never really know a man's true nature until he gains total control over you and for young and beautiful Nia, it took her, four miscarriages, a damaged rib, and three long years of servitude to realize she had loved the wrong person for all the right reasons.

But, there is hope...

It started with him coming home late at night, and then, It was his frequent upheavals. He would kick her, slap her, push her, trip her over, throw things at her, yell abuses, call her demeaning names but the next day he'd be on his knees, full of remorse, promising that things would be different- that he wouldn't hurt her anymore.

He lied.

Three years ago, Nia had gotten married to the love of her life. Things were perfect. Being with him felt like heaven, a dream she had never thought would come true. Four months later, that dream turned into a real-life nightmare.

Vincent changed.

But the funny truth was, she didn't mind her dilemma. Or at least, she hadn't, not until recently. It had never occurred to her that her relationship with him had become toxic because even with the few bruises, she enjoyed life quite well and as long as he apologized, things returned back to normal, but today at 24, his kicks and verbal assaults were little compared to the daily agony and misery she lived through.

Breaking herself out of her thoughts, she blinked, a few beads of irate tears spattering on the test result she'd been blankly staring at for the past five minutes.

"Nia, are you alright?" The doctor, Isobel asked, offering her a tissue wrap.

Was she alright?

At first, she'd tried not to let the news overwhelm her as she had sooner expected it but still, finding out that the child you've been carrying in your womb was gone hurt like a bullet wound. It felt like her chest had been ripped apart, shattering her soul and breaking the heart inside of her.

So no, she wasn't alright but she was used to it, used to the pain that constantly followed her little moment of happiness.

This wasn't the first time she had lost a child, it wasn't the second either and as long as Vincent was still a part of her life, it wasn't going to be the last.

Six months into their union, when she first discovered she was pregnant, Vincent seemed over the moon with the news but a few months later, the baby was gone; he'd beaten it out of her like it meant nothing - like she meant nothing.

It was wounding, she'd felt real pain, on like never before. Yet, even with all this, she'd forgiven him and It only took five months to get another plus sign on the stick but it didn't last up to the first trimester because three weeks later, she ended up in hospital with a ruptured cyst on her ovary.

And now the third.

"Do you want to tell me what happened this time?" Isobel asked, looking at her quizzically from across the table.

Nia looked up, tears of shame pricking her eyes. "I..." For a few moments, she'd been at a loss of words. "I..." She trailed off again, gripping on the hem of her blouse as she thought back to how he had pushed her to the ground and beaten her-kicking and kicking until he was sober enough to notice her blood that stained her thighs.

Of course, if she wanted to live long enough to see the next full moon or even the next sunrise, she couldn't tell anyone. It was a story she never told and even if she did no one would believe it. Vincent was a reputable man in the metropolis and she, well she was just his wife; a black erratic woman who he had married out of remorse and love.

She wiped her eyes and sucked in a deep breath before spewing out the quickest lie she could think of. "I slipped from the stairs on my way to make dinner."

Isobel shook her head warily, like she had expected nothing less than the lie she'd just heard. "Must have been a terrible fall," she said, leaning further into her desk. "Except your husband told me you tripped in the kitchen."

Nia parted her lips to immediately defend herself but was shut up by the wave of Isobel's hand. "If you're going to cover up for him then I don't want to hear it. This is your third miscarriage and every time it's one excuse to another. Be honest with me Nia, what's going on?"

When she didn't say a word for as much as a minute, Isobel got up from her chair and crossed the table to meet her.

"Vincent stopped seeing his therapist and has refused to renew his bipolar medications. He's hitting you again isn't he?"

Nia shook her head fervently. "No, he's not." She defended for the fear that if she had done otherwise, his punches and the bruises they left would've been the least of her worries.

Isobel sighed. "Nia," she placed a hand on her shoulder. "I've been in this business for year's and I've seen people die from domestic violence. It's not a nice thing to go through and I would be damned if I let the same fate befall my patient. You can tell me anything, come on."

"Vincent isn't - Vincent isn't abusing me."

"Nia talk to me. You're safe here, the authorities will- "

"He's not!" She deadpanned, cutting her off quite suddenly and then apologizing after. "I- I'm sorry."

Isobel sighed, her eyes clouding with disappointment as she withdrew her hand, got up, and straightened out her coat.

"It's fine," she said, walking back to sit behind her desk. "You're going through a lot right now so I won't push it but please be more careful. Your womb is already so fragile and I'm afraid any more miscarriages might cause unfixable damage."

Nia nodded. She understood quite well. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. You can go now, get some rest and give yourself time to heal, okay?"

Nia got up, feigned a wobbly smile, and nodded a thank you before exiting the building with a heavy heart and aching chest.

By the time Nia arrived home, the evening sun had already begun to mold long shadows on the ground, giving a warm orange tinge to the sky.

Upon her entrance into the two-floor apartment, Vincent who sat comfortably on the davenport craned his neck towards her direction and when his dark set of green orbs settled on her honey ones, she felt a repulsing tinge of sensation creep into her skin.

"What took you so long?." He demanded, tucking away his pack of cigarettes and getting up, all the while showcasing the full view of his lean body and chiseled chest as he took slow steps towards the refrigerator and reached inside for his third bottle of beer.

Nia closed her eyes and held them that way, not for a very long but still more than a blink, and when she had managed to push the feeling of slight prickling shame in her chest away, she spoke. "I lost the baby."

Silence fell.

But it had only lasted for a few seconds because Vincent slammed the refrigerator door shut with a hard bang and stayed still before turning to send her a sorry look which Nia thought was ironically the least he could do after kicking her child out of her womb.

"Well," he cleared his throat. "What did Isobel have so say about it?"

"She suspects... You're hitting me again." She answered, quite sure that he was waiting for a more detailed explanation but she didn't want to offer one.

"And what did you tell her?"

"I told her you weren't."

"Did she believe you?"

"I-I don't know,"

"Of course you wouldn't. So stupid." He muttered and then groaned out frustratingly. "If that damn doctor keeps snooping around my business I might have to change her." He sighed, raked a hand through his jet black hair, and turned to look at her. "Well, now that you're back, make me dinner."

Nia looked up at him, despair in her eyes. She hadn't expected a sincere apology, it was unlike Vincent to give one but the slightest show of remorse would've made her heart hurt less.

With mixed emotions, she tightened the clutch on her bag, squeezing till her knuckles turned white and when she didn't move for almost a minute, Vincent raised his brows at her. "Didn't you hear me? I said make me dinner."

"Aren't you even going to apologize?" At this point, her eyes had begun to turn red from the angry tears that burned them but Vincent didn't care.

"I'm sorry," he said flatly, nonchalantly, not caring to hide his disinterest. "Now make me dinner." He repeated, sounding it clear that he was not going to recount those words the third time but Nia still didn't move.

"I just lost my baby, our baby, our third child-gone because you... Do you even care?"

Vincent was silent. He stared at her for a full ten seconds, trying to ascertain if she was playing stubborn or just dumb. And then he scoffed, a blank expression washing over his eyes. "Stop acting like you're the victim here. If you weren't such a pathetic slob that wouldn't have happened so cut the beady bullshit and get your dry ass inside the kitchen."

"No."

Those words,

They flew out of her mouth before she could stop them and the second they did, she regretted it because now, his lips twisted into an angry snarl and his piercing eyes sent daggers her way.

"What did you say?" He asked, jaw thrusting forward with indignation, and as he spoke, he took predatory steps closer to her.

"N-noth-ing." Nia stuttered, retreating backward in an attempt to make a break for the stairs but he was fast and before she could blink, he grabbed ahold of her, slamming her against the nearest wall, so hard that the air in her lungs suddenly diminished and her vision blurred at the rapid spread of searing pain.

It didn't end there.

As she made an incisive attempt to crawl away from him, he connected his foot with my stomach, sending her back to the ground with tears streaming down both edges of her eyes but she didn't scream. Even if the pain felt like death she knew better though than to make any noise.

Vincent crouched down beside her and grabbed her hair. "Look at me," he demanded, yanking back her hair strands and forcing her entire head to tilt backward. "Why do you always have to be a miserable little witch!" he cursed, slapping her across the face, and although Nia had earlier anticipated it, she couldn't help the fresh set of tears that simmered down her eyes.

"I-I'm sorry," she whispered, her vision blurring with unshed tears.

Vincent sighed. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood today." He said, still holding her hair. "But the next time you disobey my orders, I'll force-feed you enough pills to kill you and then make your death look like the suicide of a selfish black whore who cheated on her husband and couldn't live her sin." He paused a moment to let his words sink in. "Got it?"

Seemingly losing the ability to speak, Nia nodded with forced eagerness.

"Good," he let go of her hair, dragged her out of the living room, and flung her face down onto the kitchen floor. "Now get on your fucking feet and make me something to eat."

"Y-Yes, sir."