Chapter 4

It hit me all at once, then went ice-cold.

Slow, creeping ice that filled every space inside my ribs.

"Nina." When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were still wet with that same careful pain.

But the words coming out of his mouth were colder than anything he'd said yet.

"She's been falling apart these last few weeks. Worried sick the babies won't have a name. That they'll grow up as nothing."

He paused. The sympathy in his eyes was so undisguised that for a second I couldn't breathe.

"Two nights ago, she slit her wrists with a kitchen knife. Luckily, the maid found her in time."

He dropped his eyes to the floor.

"You're healthy, Nina. You bounce back fast. And —" his voice dropped lower, almost gentle, "you've done this before. One more time — it's not gonna matter."

I went lightheaded. The kind of lightheaded where your ears start ringing.

"What," I whispered, "did you just say."

He wouldn't look at me.

He kept his eyes fixed on a single point on the floor, like a man who'd already rehearsed this conversation in his head and knew meeting my eyes would ruin the whole performance.

"She's different," he said. "She's only twenty-three. It's her first pregnancy. She's alone in this city. No family, no one to lean on —"

I opened my mouth, and no sound came out.

"I know you feel hurt." His grip on my hand tightened. "We — "

"We can have another one later, Nina. You bounce back so easily. You got pregnant just fine after the first miscarriage. You'll get pregnant again after this. Everything will be fine."

He looked up at me then, and — God help me — there were actual tears glittering in his eyes.

"Just — just do it for me," he whispered.

"Please. Just this once. For me."

I stared at him.

Looked into those wet, beautiful, lying eyes.

And I laughed.

"Ethan." My voice came out very soft.

"Do you remember why I miscarried the first time?"

He froze.

"Because your mother decided I wasn't good enough for you," I said. "Because she cornered me at the top of the staircase to tell me so. Because she argued with me, and I fell down the stairs."

His face paled.

"I was twenty-three then too," I went on, in the same quiet, conversational voice. "It was my first pregnancy too. I was alone in this city too. I'd left my own town, my own parents, my own life — for you."

He started to say something. I didn't let him.

I kept going, my voice flat.

"You don't remember, do you?"

"Nina, my mother didn't mean to—"

"I know." I cut him off softly.

"That's why I forgave her. I believed her. She looked terrified afterward. Genuinely terrified."

I tilted my head.

"She just didn't expect that you'd be standing two feet behind me on those stairs, and you didn't catch me."