Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
I give her a comforting cuddle before tucking her in again. Back in my own bed, I lie awake, thinking about the children and Angelo and the uncertainty of their future. For most of the night, I toss and turn.
At dawn, I give up on sleeping and get out of bed. The house is warm, but I feel cold. I pull on a robe and warm socks before going downstairs to make coffee.
I fortify myself with the strong brew, sipping it in front of the kitchen window while appreciating the view. The sun paints everything in gold as it rises above the mountain.
When the caffeine kicks in and I feel more awake, I check on Sophie, who’s sleeping soundly with her palms pressed together under her cheek. The sight melts my heart. I lean in the doorframe, enjoying the beautiful display of childish innocence.
Has Angelo inquired at the school yet? I make a mental note to ask him about it as I back away quietly and go to the bathroom to do my grooming.
Brushing my teeth is my mental reminder to take my birth control pill, a sort of conditioning I developed so that I don’t forget. I open the drawer and feel underneath, but my palm brushes over nothing but smooth surface. I frown and bend down. The packet isn’t in its hiding place secured by the elastic band.
My heart jolts in my chest.
Did it fall into the cupboard below?
Frantic, I go onto my knees and yank the door open. I push tubes of cream and bottles of lotion aside, knocking items over in my clumsy fumbling.
It’s gone.
I don’t want to believe it. I can’t face what that means.
Burying my head in the cupboard, I search again, but I didn’t overlook the silver rectangular packet. It’s not there.
When I sit back on my haunches, I don’t have a choice but to acknowledge the suspicion that formed in my mind when my hand first came up empty.
No.
I knew this could happen. My husband warned me. He told me he wanted a baby and that he wasn’t giving me a choice in the matter. But I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want to admit what that makes him. That he has so little regard for me. That even in this choice I have no freedom. Because there was a time when he considered my wishes. After we lost our virginity together, he went to the pharmacy for me. He got me the morning-after pill. He promised to use condoms. He told me the act showed how much he cared about what I wanted. But that was then, before all the killings. This is now. What I want doesn’t matter any longer. He doesn’t give a damn about my wishes. He couldn’t make a stronger statement of how little he cares.
The coffee pushes up in my throat, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
My heart thumps with sluggish beats between my ribs as I look around the bathroom. My gaze falls on the trashcan. I pull it closer and peer inside.
And there it is, the proof lying like a nasty accusation on a pile of tissues and cotton swabs.
Dipping a shaky hand inside, I pull out the silver packet. The casings are empty. The packet slips from my fingers, landing soundlessly on that soft bed of trash while screaming the truth in my head.
Angelo flushed away my pills.
The betrayal burns hot. Heat rushes through me and covers every inch of my skin.
Gripping the counter, I pull myself up and heave a breath. I think I’m going to be sick.
How could he?
I’m not even twenty. He’s only twenty-four. Yet he seems so much older than his age. The brutal experience that comes with his business matured him early. It made him too cruel. Too unfeeling.
The icy fingers of deception and disappointment that squeeze around my heart replaces the feverish heat of the shock. How can we bring a child into our twisted, corrupt world? I cup a hand over my stomach, imagining the injustice we’d do to a baby.
In the reflection of the mirror, my face is pale. Sweat beads on my forehead as I go from cold to hot and back to cold again.
We had wild sex only yesterday, no more than fourteen hours ago. I have to go to the village. I can buy birth control pills at the pharmacy.
In my rush to get ready, I tip over the porcelain toothbrush holder, catching it just before it hits the floor. I pause and inhale deeply. I need to get a hold of myself. Why am I so shocked? I’ve been training for this moment. I’ve been preparing myself. That’s my secret weapon. Isn’t that why I slip down the valley at every chance I get? Isn’t that why I save the money from the casual jobs I do in secret?