Chapter 11
594words
And then Nathan appearing at my hospital bedside, as if the divorce papers didn't exist. As if the past eight months of silence and separation hadn't happened. As if he hadn't broken my heart when I needed him most.
I showered carefully, letting the hot water ease my aching muscles. Nathan had thoughtfully left clean clothes—a pair of yoga pants and a sweater I'd left behind months ago. I dressed slowly, each movement a reminder of how close I'd come to something much worse than bruised ribs.
In the kitchen, I found coffee already brewed in the expensive machine Nathan had imported from Italy. Some things never changed. I poured a cup and moved to the wall of windows overlooking Boston Harbor, the familiar view simultaneously comforting and painful.
This had been my home too, once. The place where we'd built our life together, planned our future, dreamed of the family we would have.
Until eight months ago.
The cramping had started during my afternoon session with a patient. By evening, it had become unbearable. Then the bleeding began.
"I need to go to the hospital," I'd told Nathan over the phone, my voice tight with fear. "Something's wrong with the baby."
"I'm in the middle of the Richardson meeting," he'd replied, tension evident in his voice. "Can you call an Uber? I'll meet you there as soon as I can."
I'd agreed, not wanting to pull him away from the biggest client meeting of the year. But as the hours passed in the cold hospital room, as the doctors confirmed what I already knew—that I was losing our child—Nathan never appeared.
My calls went straight to voicemail. My texts unanswered. I'd tried Rebecca next, hoping my sister could reach him, but she didn't answer either.
Alone, I'd listened to the doctor's gentle explanation of "spontaneous miscarriage." Alone, I'd signed the forms for the D&C procedure. Alone, I'd woken up afterward, empty in more ways than one.
When Nathan finally appeared the next morning, disheveled and frantic, his explanation had seemed hollow: trapped in an elevator for hours, phone dead, no way to contact me. A freak accident on the night I needed him most.
"I tried everything to get to you," he'd insisted, his gray eyes pleading. "You have to believe me."
But something had broken in me that night. The coincidence was too convenient, the timing too perfect. And in the following weeks, as I sank into depression, Nathan had retreated into his work, our communication reduced to stilted exchanges about practical matters.
Two months later, I'd moved out. Six months after that, we'd filed for divorce.
The sound of the front door opening pulled me from my memories. I turned, expecting Nathan, but froze at the sight of Rebecca entering the penthouse, using her own key.
"Oh!" She startled upon seeing me. "Liv. I didn't realize you'd be up."
She looked perfect, as always—honey-blonde hair falling in artful waves, designer jeans hugging her model's figure, makeup flawless despite the early hour. My beautiful, successful sister, who had everything I'd ever wanted—including, apparently, a key to my ex-husband's home.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, setting down my coffee cup before my shaking hands could betray me.
Rebecca held up a paper bag. "Bringing breakfast. Nathan texted that you were staying here, and I thought you might need something to eat." She moved into the kitchen, setting the bag on the counter. "How are you feeling?"
