Chapter 3
Evelyn POV
Cassidy's car smelled like vanilla and expensive leather as we drove to the hospital. My stomach lurched with each turn, though I wasn't sure if it was the motion or the same nausea that had been plaguing me for weeks. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing steadily through my nose.
"We're almost there," Cassidy said, reaching over to squeeze my hand.
I nodded, grateful for her understanding what I couldn't articulate—the fear of being questioned about bruises I couldn't explain, about a husband who might be called, about a life I was trying desperately to escape.
At the hospital, everything moved quickly. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled my nostrils as a nurse led us through corridors to an examination room. Dr. Wilson, a woman with kind eyes and silver-streaked hair, noticed my pallor immediately.
"Let's run some tests," she said after a brief examination, her voice calm and reassuring. "Your blood pressure is a bit low, and you mentioned vomiting and fatigue."
As the nurse drew my blood, I felt a flutter of anxiety rise in my chest. I reached for my phone and typed a message to Cassidy sitting beside me: [Cass, I'm scared.]
She read it and took my hand in hers. "Calm down, no matter what happens, I'll be right here with you, okay?" she said gently.
After what felt like hours but was probably only forty minutes, Dr. Wilson returned with a folder in her hands. Her expression shifted to something more serious as she reviewed the results, and my heart began to race.
"So," Cassidy asked, her voice tight with anxiety, "what's wrong with my friend?"
Dr. Wilson looked up and her face softened. "Relax, Cassidy. Your friend is perfectly healthy... because she's two months pregnant. Congratulations."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Pregnant. My hands instinctively moved to my stomach as the room seemed to tilt slightly.
[Really?] My fingers trembled as they formed the simple question.
Cassidy stared at Dr. Wilson in disbelief. "Are you sure? Could there be a mistake?"
"The blood test is quite clear," Dr. Wilson explained gently. "The symptoms you've been experiencing—morning sickness, fatigue, dizziness—they're all consistent with early pregnancy."
I barely heard the rest of her explanation. My mind drifted away from the sterile examination room, frantically searching through memories, counting weeks and days. Two months ago. What was happening two months ago? The fashion week preparations. The nights Bryce worked late. The fundraising gala where he'd been unusually attentive, almost kind.
Then the memory surfaced with terrible clarity. That night. The argument I'd overheard on the phone—Bryce's voice rising, Serena's name mentioned again and again. How he'd slammed into the apartment past midnight, reeking of expensive scotch, his eyes cold with a rage that needed somewhere to land. Two months ago. Yes, it must have been that night when Bryce came home angry after fighting with Serena. The night that pushed me to finally decide I needed to leave.
Dr. Wilson's voice pulled me back to the present. "Miss Moore? It seems you're a little upset about that?"
Cassidy shifted in her seat. "She's not upset about that. It's just... her husband might not be thrilled about the baby."
I nodded, trying to look appropriately concerned while my mind raced. Bryce's child was growing inside me, even as I planned to divorce him. The irony wasn't lost on me.
"I understand," Dr. Wilson said with genuine sympathy. "But in my experience, most men are overjoyed to learn they're going to be fathers."
I forced a smile and nodded again, though a chill ran through me at the thought of Bryce's reaction. Would a baby change him? Make him kinder? Or would it just be another reason for him to control me?
"What can she do for the nausea?" Cassidy asked, bringing the conversation back to practical matters.
Dr. Wilson wrote a prescription for prenatal vitamins and offered advice about eating small, frequent meals rich in protein, avoiding greasy foods, and staying hydrated. I took the prescription with a grateful nod.
[Thank you.]
"She says thank you," Cassidy translated, and Dr. Wilson smiled warmly.
The hospital corridors seemed longer on our way out, the fluorescent lights harsher. My hand kept drifting to my abdomen, as if to verify that the life growing there was real. Outside, the autumn air felt crisp against my skin, the world appearing strangely brighter and more immediate. Everything looked the same, but nothing was. In the span of a doctor's appointment, my entire future had shifted.
As we left the hospital, my thoughts were a tangled mess.
"It's from that night, isn't it?" Cassidy asked quietly as we walked to the car. "The night before you came to me with bruises on your wrists."
[I think so.]
"What are you going to do?" she continued. "I know you won't terminate, but are you going to follow the doctor's advice and tell him, or are you still going through with the divorce?"
I pulled out my phone and typed: [It's his child...]
"So what?" Cassidy's voice rose slightly. "You don't know how he'll react."
[But it's his child... maybe he likes them.]
Cassidy stopped walking and turned to face me, her expression incredulous. "Evelyn, no. Don't fall for that fantasy. And a baby doesn't fix an abusive marriage."
I typed on my phone again: [Cass, I know you're angry, but I feel like I should at least tell him about my condition.]
"Evelyn, promise me..." Cassidy's voice dropped to an urgent whisper. "Promise me you'll only ask him how he feels about having children. Don't tell him you're already pregnant. I don't want him turning around and beating you until you miscarry."
Her words sent a bolt of fear through me. I knew she was right—Bryce was capable of exactly that. I nodded and signed my promise, my hands steady even as my heart raced.
As we arrived at the pharmacy, I purchased the prenatal vitamins and took the first one immediately. The pharmacist conversed with me in fluent sign language, surprising me with his knowledge. His kindness warmed me, a reminder that not everyone judged me for my disability.
As we exited, walking through the Georgetown shopping district, Cassidy suddenly stopped and turned to me. "Since we've already got your vitamins, what do you say we take a little detour?"
I tilted my head questioningly.
"Yesterday was your birthday, and you spent it alone waiting for that narcissistic fashion jerk," she said. "Today, we're going to have cake and celebrate properly."
I considered this, thinking about the baby growing inside me, about the future that stretched uncertain before me. Maybe it was time to enjoy the present moment, to celebrate not just my birthday but this new life.
I signed: [Yes, I think it's time I start enjoying life and celebrating my birthday outside.]
Cassidy's face lit up. She bought me a beautiful silk scarf as a birthday gift, and we enjoyed lunch at an elegant restaurant in Georgetown. For the first time, I felt a flutter of joy about the pregnancy, despite the uncertainty of my situation.
By afternoon, as Cassidy drove me back to my apartment, I was feeling more peaceful than I had in months. But that feeling evaporated instantly when we arrived at my building.
Standing at my door, pounding with a manicured fist and shouting, was an elegantly dressed older woman in a Finch couture suit.
"Open this door, you mute little gold-digger!" she shrieked.
My body went rigid with recognition and fear. I clutched Cassidy's arm, my fingers digging into her skin.
It was Irene Finch, my mother-in-law—and from the fury on her face, I knew whatever came next wouldn't be good.