Chapter 2
My best friend, Rosalie Finch, was slumped over the edge of my bed. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her fingers tightly gripped my medical charts.
I forced my cracked lips to move, whispering, "Where's my baby?"
Rosalie stayed silent.
Watching the devastating look on her face, my heart sank into a bottomless pit.
It took a long time before she finally choked out, her voice raspy, "Fiona, the doctors did everything they could."
I didn't cry.
Maybe my body was in too much physical pain, or maybe all my tears had already been drained under the ruins of that old house.
Voices drifted in from the hallway.
My mother-in-law, Adeline, kept her voice down to a harsh whisper. "Freya, stop blaming yourself. Vincent said this wasn't your fault.
"You're fragile. Go home and rest before her tragedy makes you sick too."
"Adeline, I just feel so guilty," Freya whimpered, her voice cracking. "Fiona carried that baby for so long, and now it's gone. She must absolutely hate me."
Adeline sighed heavily. "She's reasonable enough to understand. Besides, given the circumstances, Vincent did the right thing by saving you first.
"You're all his late brother left behind. The Kings take care of their own."
I turned my face toward the window, watching the rain beat relentlessly against the glass.
No one mentioned the baby's name.
No one asked if I was hurting.
No one cared if I even wanted to keep living.
*****
Vincent didn't step foot into my room until dawn.
He had changed into clean clothes, though his eyes were bloodshot, and he smelled faintly of hospital corridor disinfectant.
He stood at the foot of my bed, silent for the longest time.
"Where is my baby?" I broke the silence first.
He avoided my gaze, looking down at the floor. "The hospital will handle it."
I gripped the bedsheets tight, my knuckles turning white. "I want to see him."
"Fiona, don't," his voice dropped, laced with a tired sigh. "Your body can't take it right now."
I stared him down, cold and unyielding. "That was my child."
Vincent frowned, a flash of defensiveness crossing his features. "He was my child too. I'm hurting just as much."
A sudden, hollow laugh escaped my lips.
It was soft, but the movement ripped painfully against my surgical incision. "And while you were hurting, who were you comforting?"
His expression instantly darkened. "Freya was terrified, and she had nightmares all night.
"Her husband died years ago, and she's relied on the King family ever since. Don't take your anger out on her."
"Take my anger out on her?" I echoed, the absurdity of it washing over me.
Vincent closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. "Fiona, the baby is gone. Dwelling on it won't bring him back."
Silence swallowed the room until Rosalie snapped, jumping to her feet in absolute fury. "Vincent King, listen to yourself! Are you even human?"
Vincent shot her a cold, warning look. "This is a private family matter."
Rosalie slammed my medical chart right against his chest. "Then start acting like a damn husband! When the doctor asked how far along she was, you had no clue.
"When they asked about her checkups, you didn't know a thing. But you damn sure know exactly what time your precious sister-in-law needs her milk!"
A flicker of sheer embarrassment crossed Vincent's face.
Right on cue, Freya pushed the door open.
She was wearing oversized hospital scrubs, her wrist wrapped in gauze, her face pale as a ghost.
"Fiona, I'm so sorry," she whimpered from the doorway, tears streaming down her face. "If I hadn't begged you to bring me those things from the old house last night, none of this would have happened."
I stared straight at her, my voice deadpan. "You knew the stairs were broken, didn't you?"
Freya's sobbing caught in her throat.
Vincent immediately stepped between us, shielding her from my view. "Fiona, you just woke up. Stop throwing around baseless accusations."
I didn't argue.
Instead, I slowly slid my hand under my pillow where my phone was hidden.
The screen lit up, displaying a video Rosalie had saved for me last night.
It was security footage from a liquor store across the street from the old estate. The camera caught Freya's exact movements before she entered the building.
She had stood at the base of the stairs, looking directly down at a heavily cracked wooden plank.
Then, she had turned around and waved me over.
I shut off the screen.
Not yet. It wasn't time.
*****
On the day I was discharged, Vincent came to pick me up.
He pulled up to the hospital entrance and opened the front passenger door for me.
I ignored it and climbed into the back seat instead.
His hand hovered in mid-air before he slowly pulled it back, closing the door.
Neither of us uttered a word during the entire drive.
As we pulled up to the gates of our residential community, I noticed a pile of cardboard boxes stacked near the guard station, labeled with bright red signs: [The King Family Charity Drive.]
My chest tightened instantly.
Vincent parked the car and grabbed my luggage.
When I pushed open the front door of our house, a pair of light pink slippers was sitting in the entryway.
On the top shelf of the shoe cabinet lay Freya's usual stomach medication and sedatives.
A large vase of white lilies sat prominently on the coffee table.
Ever since I got pregnant, I couldn't handle strong floral scents, so Vincent had instructed the housekeeper to remove all fresh flowers from the house.
Now, the lilies were in full bloom.
Freya emerged from the kitchen, holding a warm bowl of oatmeal.
"Fiona, you're back," she said softly, offering a timid smile.
She was wearing my apron.