Page 71 of Watch Me Burn
“I never thought about having children.” I surprise myself with the confession. “Not seriously. My work has always been enough.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know.” I blink back unexpected tears. “It wasn’t real to me until this moment, and now… now it’s already gone.”
“Would you like to talk to someone? I can refer you to a counselor who specializes in pregnancy loss.”
I shake my head before she can finish. “I’ll be fine.” The lie comes easily, a reflex.
“It’s not always about ‘fine’ or ‘not fine.’ Sometimes it’s about having someone objective to process with. Someone who understands what you’re going through.”
“I just need some time.” I shift on the examination table, the paper crinkling beneath me. “And my friend, Maren, had one when we were in college, so I can talk to her if I need someone.”
“Take Dr. Mosier’s info anyway.” She plucks a business card from the holder on the counter. “And Luna? If there’s anything else going on, anything you want to talk about, I’m here.”
I slide off the table, eager to end this conversation.
“No. That’s okay. Thank you for fitting me in today.”
“Of course.” She moves to the supply cabinet and retrieves a tri-fold brochure, setting it on the chair next to my folded clothes. “This has information about what’s typical after a miscarriage at six weeks. The bleeding you’re experiencing now should gradually decrease, though some women have intermittent spotting. Your body is doing what it needs to do. But certain symptoms shouldn’t be ignored. Soaking through multiple pads in a short time, fever, dizziness that doesn’t improve, or pain that gets worse instead of better. Any of those symptoms requires immediate medical attention. And Luna?”
I pause in reaching for my clothes. “Yes?”
“I say this purely out of concern as your doctor and, I hope, as something of a friend. Be careful with this relationship. Everyone deserves to be treated with care and respect, especially in their most vulnerable moments.” Her words carry weight, chosen with deliberate intent. “Call me anytime. If your symptoms worsen, or if you just need to talk.”
“Thank you.” I don’t meet her eyes. “But really, everything’s fine.”
Except that nothing feels fine anymore.
Twenty minutes later, I sit in my car in the parking lot, keys in the ignition, but the engine is silent. My hands grip the steering wheel until my fingers ache.
A baby.
I was carrying a baby. His baby. The result of all those nights when he claimed me. Filled me. When he whispered dark, possessive things against my skin as he came inside me, over and over again. I never thought. I never worried.
How could I be so stupid?
“What would you have been?” I whisper to the void inside me.
Boy or girl? Would you have had those dark, piercing eyes of his? That cocky smile?
Would I have even been a good mother?
I try to imagine telling him. Will he laugh it off? Will he be furious? Or will he just say, “Lay back and spread your legs, little doe.”
Will this change anything? Will he even care, or am I just a body to him, a vessel for his pleasure? In all our time together, his face hidden behind that wolf mask, I’ve never known what he thinks or what he feels beyond desire and possession.
A sob escapes me, surprising in its intensity. I press my hand against my mouth to stifle it, but more follow. I’m crying for a baby I never knew existed until it was already gone. I’m crying for the mess my life has become, caught between two men—one I can see but don’t truly know, and one I know intimately but have never truly seen.
Most of all, I’m crying because beneath the shock and confusion, there’s a hollow ache of loss that I never expected to feel. Something was growing inside me, something created in darkness and passion, and now it’s gone.
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and let the tears come, mourning a future I never even had the chance to consider.
Chapter eighteen
Luna
Ihaven’t moved from my bed for the past four hours. The sheets are twisted around my legs like restraints, and I can’t bring myself to care. My body feels hollowed out, not just from the miscarriage, but from the months of secrets I’ve been carrying.
