Everyone knew my husband Seth was cold. Then I walked in on him pinning my stepsister against the kitchen counter, shoving her shirt up, mouth already on her neck. It came out at a family dinner. Seth wanted a divorce. He'd fallen for Serena. Serena's husband, Callum, agreed to let her go. His family had just gone bankrupt. He had nothing left to fight with. So he took me instead. Two couples. Two marriages. Swapped clean. Callum looked at Seth across the table. "If my family hadn't gone under — if Serena hadn't wanted you — I would never have walked away." Seth picked Serena up and left. I stood in front of the leftover food and didn't know where to go. It didn't matter. I was dying anyway. I didn't say that out loud. I swallowed it back down. Along with everything else I'd been swallowing for years. --- The dinner broke up. The waitstaff cleared the table. I stood in the doorway of the private room with nowhere to go. Seth had already carried Serena out. His arm around her waist, down the hotel corridor, into the elevator. He never looked back. Not once. Callum was still there. Waiting. "Let's go." He finally spoke. "Back to my place." I didn't want to. "You have nowhere else." His voice was even. "The Coles won't take you back. Where else would you go?" I looked at him. He always knew exactly where to press. He waited. When I didn't answer, he reached out and took my hand. His hand was warm. Knuckles sharp under the skin. Thin calluses on his fingertips. Years ago, he'd held my hand the same way on the day we filed for marriage. "Let's go," he said. I didn't refuse again. Because he was right. I had nowhere to go. --- In the car, Callum sat behind the wheel and said nothing. Then, after a long silence: "You hate me." I turned to look at him. He kept his eyes on the road. Streetlights swept across his face one after another. I didn't answer. Hate? I used to. After the divorce, the hate kept me up most nights. It sat in my chest like something I couldn't swallow down and couldn't spit out. I hated him for marrying me and then not wanting me. For being kind to Serena in front of my face. For the way he started looking through me like I wasn't there. But what I hated most was the needle. The one he arranged. The one he held me down for. I had just found out I was pregnant. I walked in with the ultrasound printout still warm in my hands. I thought he'd be relieved. I thought maybe this was the thing that would finally give us something to build on. He let me finish. Then he was quiet for a moment. "Serena heard about it," he said. "She's not happy." Serena wasn't happy. So the baby had to go. I got on my knees. I told him it was his. That the scan showed a heartbeat. That it was beating right now, on that printout, that it was alive. He didn't react. He picked up his phone and made a call. I don't know who he called. I only heard his side: "Right. Home visit. As soon as possible." Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang. A woman in plain clothes came in with a small white case. She glanced at me, then looked at Callum. He nodded. I got up to run. He grabbed me and pinned me to the bed. I fought. I kicked him. I bit down on his hand until I tasted blood. He didn't let go. The needle went into my vein. My whole body locked up. The fluid moved down the line, drop by drop, into me. I still remember the pain. I rolled. I clawed the sheets apart. I screamed for help until I had no voice left. Nobody came. He stood outside the door all night. He heard me scream. He heard me cry. He heard it go quiet. The sheets were soaked red. The baby was gone. The next morning he came in and looked at me. "Rest up," he said. Then he left to see Serena. She'd been upset about all of it. He went to comfort her.
My body never recovered after that. The doctor said the damage was permanent. Severe scarring. Likely unable to carry again. I heard it and felt something loosen in my chest. Good. A child nobody wants shouldn't have to come into this world. "Vera." Callum's voice pulled me back. "That procedure," he said. "I know it left damage." I looked at him and said nothing. "How are you — how's your health now?" Not dying. Not living either. Cold weather and my joints ached bone-deep. Every change of season brought the cough. Some nights it went on for hours, and there was blood in what came up. A doctor had told me I had a few years left if nothing changed. I wasn't going to tell Callum any of that. "Don't worry about it," I said. He nodded. Didn't push. The car moved through one red light, then another. I closed my eyes. --- Callum Hart was my first husband. We grew up on the same street in Boston. Same schools, kindergarten through college. Both families had known each other for decades. Everyone said we were the obvious pair. I was twenty when everything changed. Serena's mother showed up at our house with Serena in tow. My mother found out her husband had a daughter nearly my age that she'd never known about. My mother died that winter. A brain bleed. She was already gone by the time the ambulance got there. The funeral day, Callum came to pay his respects. He took my hand and said: "The engagement still stands. When the mourning period is over, we'll sign the papers." The first months of marriage, he was good to me. He was. But it didn't last long before he fell for Serena. He told me straight. Said he'd split his assets with me fifty-fifty. Said he wanted a divorce. I said no. I cried. I begged. I knelt in front of him and asked if he remembered I was his wife. He looked down at me. No disgust. No pity. Nothing. "Vera," he said. "You can't force feelings." He loved Serena and he didn't hide it from anyone. When people talked about her, he went after them. When she cried, he stayed up all night. When she said she was unhappy, he gave her whatever she asked for. Including my unborn child. The car stopped. "We're here." The Hart house was right in front of us. The living room light was still on. Callum's mother was on the couch in her robe. She saw me walk in and her face went flat. "Why did you bring her here?" "She is cursed. Her own mother dies, our family goes bankrupt — and you walk her through our front door?" I said nothing. I stood there with my eyes down. Callum said nothing either. She got louder. Went through everything — my face, my family, my character. She went for a full fifteen minutes before Callum spoke. "Mom. It's late. Go to bed." She shot him a look, shot me another, and went upstairs still cursing under her breath. Just the two of us. Callum stood with his back to me. "Don't take it personally." "Where do I sleep?" I said. He turned, looked at me once, and led me upstairs. He stopped in front of a bedroom door. The room we'd shared when we were married. He pushed it open. Everything inside had been redone. Pink curtains. Serena's skincare lined up on the vanity. Her photo on the nightstand. Callum gestured at the room. "You can stay here. Don't move anything. She might come back someday — I don't want her walking in to find it changed." I walked in and sat on the edge of the bed. He was still in the doorway. Waiting for something. I didn't look back. "I'm tired." He stood there a moment, then turned and walked away. His footsteps faded down the hall. --- That night I couldn't sleep. The room smelled like Serena. Her perfume — something thick and sweet — gave me a headache. I turned over and over. My mind wouldn't stop. After the divorce from Callum, I'd gone back to the my home. I thought — my father's house, at least. He wouldn't turn me away. I was wrong.
The housekeeper stepped back when she saw me in the doorway. My father looked at me like I'd tracked something in. Said I'd shamed the family. My stepmother wanted me out. Every day she had a name for me — a divorced restaurant owner, fifty-something, looking for someone to cook and clean. She said I should consider myself lucky. "You're a divorced woman," she said. "What exactly are you holding out for?" That was when Seth came. It was the worst I'd been. My stepmother had nearly finalized it — the restaurant owner, the second marriage I hadn't agreed to. My father said nothing. His silence was enough. Then Seth showed up and asked for my hand. Said he'd thought about me for a long time. My father said yes. My stepmother threw a cup at the wall. The day I moved into Seth's house, I thought: maybe this is finally it. He treated me well. He put toothpaste on my brush before I woke up. When I coughed, he made pear tea. On the nights I couldn't sleep, he lay beside me and patted my back until I went still. I thought I'd found solid ground. I thought maybe things were allowed to be okay now. Then came the day we visited my family after the wedding. Serena was in the yard. She was wearing a white sundress. The wind caught the hem. She turned and glanced back. Just once. That was all it took. Seth's feet stopped moving. After that, everything changed. He started going to the eastate constantly. Said he was checking on my father. He started buying her things. Lipstick, bags, flowers, jewelry. He started bringing her up in conversation. How smart she was. How thoughtful. I knew exactly what was happening. I didn't say a word. I just thought: maybe this is just what my life is. The people I love always leave. In the end, it was at the family dinner. He dropped the divorce papers on the table in front of me and walked out with his arm around Serena. --- I lay in bed thinking through all of it, and somewhere in the middle of it I fell asleep. The next morning I was woken by shouting. "Still in bed? The sun's been up for hours!" His mother's voice exploded next to my ear. I opened my eyes. She was standing over me, hands on her hips, face full of contempt. She grabbed my arm. "Get up and make breakfast. This house doesn't feed people who don't work." My whole body hurt. It was like this every month around my cycle. My lower back locked up. A grinding cramp low in my stomach. Even breathing felt like effort. I pushed myself up on one arm, pulled on a jacket, and got out of bed. "What's taking so long? Callum's waiting to eat!" I made breakfast and brought the food to the table. Callum was already seated, scrolling through his phone. He didn't look up. I set the congee in front of him. He stood up. "What's wrong?" his mother asked. "I'm not eating." He was already at the door, picking up his keys. "Serena's upset. I'm going to check on her." His mother sat at the table staring at the full spread. Her expression curdled. I stood still. Eyes down. Didn't move, didn't speak. Crack. Her palm hit the table. "Look at yourself." She pointed at me. "Can't keep a man, takes half the morning to cook a meal he won't even touch — what are you even here for? You're deadweight." When I still didn't respond, she grabbed a dish off the table and threw it at me. It hit my forehead and split in two. Broth ran down into my eye. "Useless!" She turned and walked out. The broth stung. I blinked. Reached up and wiped my face. My forehead had split open. Blood mixed with the broth, running down. The floor was a mess. I crouched down and started picking up the pieces one by one. When the shards were cleared, I got the cloth and knelt on the floor and wiped up the broth.
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