Chapter 1
After my abortion, my best friend sued me.
She accused me of getting between her and her husband, and demanded 300 thousand dollars in Youth Compensation for all the years she wasted.
Henry Dawson, my boyfriend of eight years, stood by my hospital bed, holding her hand.
"Do you admit it?" he asked.
He was holding a one-year-old child in his arms. The child wore a custom-made necklace that cost 230,000 dollars.
We'd been together for eight years.
The most expensive gift Henry ever gave me was a 42-dollar thermos and after buying it, he made me send him back 21 dollars.
Every bill, every meal, we always went fifty-fifty.
It was only now that I realized just how much of a fool I'd been.
I swallowed the bitterness in my throat.
"I admit it. Take the money, and we're even," I said.
*****
Samantha Reed slid the settlement agreement across the bed.
"Go ahead and sign. When are you paying up?" she said.
She was gripping the summons, drumming its corner against the bedrail.
"Or you could just not sign," she added.
"Then we'll see you in court. Your company, your family, your college friends, everyone will know what you did."
She unlocked her phone and held it up, showing me my own social media profile.
"Your mom's photo is still pinned at the top," she said.
"If this blows up, I can't control where people go to bash you online."
My fingers curled reflexively.
That was the last photo I ever posted of my mom, on the first anniversary of her passing.
I didn't answer Samantha. I just pulled the settlement agreement toward me.
"Before I'm discharged," I said.
Henry let out a cold laugh. "So quick to agree. Are you scared I'll keep digging into that one million dollars?"
I took the pen. "Grandma knows all about that money."
His face darkened. "Don't hide behind Grandma."
I didn't bother explaining. I signed my name, then slipped off the silver ring I'd worn for eight years.
"That's the money, settled," I said.
"And we're done, too."
Samantha glanced down at the ring and let out a laugh. "You really wore a ring worth barely 50 dollars all these years?"
She pulled out another phone and pointed the camera at me. "Since you admitted it, go ahead and say it for the camera."
I looked up. "Say what?"
"Say you knew Henry was married, but you kept clinging to him. Say you got pregnant on purpose. Say you'll stay out of our lives for good," Samantha said.
Henry just stood there, not stopping her.
Samantha sent me a script via text. "Read it exactly as written. Don't change a word."
I read it over.
"Do I really have to record this?" I asked.
"You don't have to," Samantha said, waving the summons. "But then we'll see you in court. Your call."
I looked at Henry.
He was holding the baby, and said coldly, "Grace, if you mess up, you have to take responsibility."
I turned my gaze back to the camera and recited the script, word for word.
"I'm Grace Nolan.
"I admit I interfered in Henry and Samantha's marriage and caused harm to their family.
"I'm willing to pay the damages, and I won't ever reach out to Henry again."
Just as I finished the last line, the family member from the next bed walked in.
She stood in the doorway, listening. Her eyes moved from my face to the patient ID tag on my wrist, then to the bag of bloody clothes by the bed.
She didn't say a word. She just turned and walked out.
Henry never once reached for the ring.
The ring rolled across the nightstand, clinked against the glass of water, and only then came to a stop.
The nurse came in and asked the family to step out.
Samantha didn't budge, still cradling the baby. "I'm not her family. I'm just here for her signature."
The nurse looked at Henry.
He adjusted the baby in his arms. "She's paying for herself."
"There's still 3,000 dollars outstanding," the nurse said. "She just had surgery. She should stay for at least two more days."
Henry frowned. "She's got money in her account."
"I do," I said.
Only then did he turn to leave.
Just as the door was about to close, Samantha turned back and reminded me, "125,000 dollars. Not a cent less."
I nodded. "I won't short you."
The room fell silent.
The nurse tucked me in and asked softly, "Was that your boyfriend?"
"Used to be," I said.
She hesitated, looked like she wanted to say something, but just said, "Get some rest."
Less than ten minutes later, the video was already online.
Samantha didn't mention my name. She just wrote: [Waited two years, and finally got an apology.]
But my face was right there in the video, and my name was clear on the hospital wristband.
Soon, someone stitched together the court summons, the marriage certificate, and the baby's birth certificate, and posted it in the hospital patient group chat.
When the family member from the next bed came back, she went straight to the nurse and demanded a room change.
"My daughter just managed to keep her pregnancy. She can't share a room with someone like that," she said.
The nurse explained that beds were tight, but the woman just said right in front of me, "She had the nerve to wreck someone else's family. Is she afraid of people talking about her?"
The other pregnant woman in the room pulled her curtain shut tight. When her husband came to bring her food, she whispered, "Don't look over there."
I'd hired a caregiver for two days.
But after she came across the video online, she handed my deposit back to me.
"Miss, this whole thing is just too messy. If my family finds out, it won't look good for me," she said.
"I'll give you an extra fifty dollars," I offered.
"It's not about the money," she said.
With that, she turned and walked away.
That night, I shuffled to the bathroom by myself, holding onto the wall for support.
But as soon as I got to the door, my legs buckled beneath me.
The nurse on duty helped me back to bed. As she turned to push the treatment cart away, someone in the hallway was already recording me with their phone. The surrounding crowd began to gossip.
"That's her."
"The wife herself brought the summons right to her hospital room."
"Losing the baby is just what she deserves."
The nurse turned around and snapped, "This is a hospital ward. No filming!"
Only then did the person put their phone away.
I lay back down, my hands still trembling.
The nurse tucked me in, but she didn't ask if I was really the other woman.
No one else needed to ask.
I'd already admitted it myself.
I couldn't sleep.
My phone was lying next to my pillow, the screen cracked in one corner. I hadn't deleted the photos Samantha sent me last night, pictures of her and Henry tangled up in bed. I didn't dare open them again.
Just the thought of it made me feel sick.