Brya

" I had believed him. I had poured every ounce of my energy into him, into our home, into the life he said he was building for us. I meticulously managed his schedule, entertained his clients with a smile even when my head was pounding, and researc

He had wielded the word like

a word. For days, we moved around each other like ghosts, the silence thick with unspoken accusations. Then, a week after his declaration, I received an email from the

s became more frequent, and a persistent headache took root behind my eyes, a pressure that never seemed to fade. I finally made

d my chart, "the persistent headaches, the dizziness, the joint pain..

error through me. This was no longer a

slip in my hand. The hospital was just across the street. M

the imaging center, a familiar laugh cut t

rially on his arm, was Kiersten Lowe. She wasn't wearing a tailored coat this time; ins

as pr

family. The family Clayton and I had talked about for years

shed over me. The polished floor seemed to tilt, and I stumbled, my handbag slipping from my shoulder and its contents scattering acro

n' s voice was

s welling up from a deep gash, dri

er stomach. "Oh! Clay, I think-I think the baby just kicked really har

down? Here, let me help you." He fussed over her, his voice thick with a

yes flashing with anger. "You come barreling in

ce trembling with a mixture of pa

floor. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. "Right. Here." He fum

ntment slip, the one for the brain MRI, had slid near Kiersten' s feet. I reached

fted her weight, her heel pressing down firmly on the corner of the pape

murmured, her voice too

ing. The blatant cruelty of the act, the sheer malice i

pain, the betrayal, the humiliation of the past fe

ing crack of my palm connecting with he

-