Page 95 of Wretched Choices

thirty-nine

Isabella

I let the robe fall from my body and look at my reflection in the mirror.

Bruises.

Bruises on my body, on my face.

Empty.

That’s how my body looks from the outside. From the inside, there is an inferno of emotions that can’t be shut down.

Desperation for what has been taken from me.

Desperation to feel his arms around me.

Desperation for him to tell me everything will be okay.

Desperation to just hear his voice.

He left me here, in the house he bought for us after I told him the hotel was not a home. I waited for him every day since the day I woke up. I waited with a glimmer of hope in my shattered heart.

I waited for him so we could mourn our baby.

The baby he never wanted.

The life he never wanted.

I would have forgiven him for all the hurtful things he said to me just so I could feel his arms around me.

But he is not here.

I was a fool thinking he would accept the baby. It was hard for me to understand his reason for not wanting it. When I told him I was pregnant, I hoped he would accept it. Accept our family. I had hopes that he would change his mind. But that was stupid of me. He never wanted that.

I place my palm on my stomach, and at the feeling of the emptiness inside me, I sob. My body shakes and I can’t take it anymore. I break down.

I fall on the floor, naked, and cry. With every sob, the questions grow.

Why?

Why couldn’t he just accept it?

Why couldn’t he love the baby?

Why did he hate it so much that I had to lose it?

I blame him. If he didn’t hurt me with his words and actions, I would have called him that day and wouldn’t have gone alone.

My sobs turn into wails, and I don’t know how long I stay on the floor. I only register when someone covers me and strong hands carry me to my bed.

It was already night when I recovered from my state. In the last few days, I have lost all sense of time. There’s no difference between day and night. They are the same.

Like I’m once again that girl who lost her mother and witnessed the terrifying crime of her father.

I pull the covers off me and slide from the bed. I look down at my body almost expecting to see my bruised and naked skin once again, but I don’t. Someone dressed me in sweatpants and a shirt.

I vaguely remember the smell of cherries and a soft voice, followed by strong hands and a woodsy smell. Gabriel. He was here. And with him was Valentina.

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