Weston. She gives me this spiel about hospital policy and security and confidentiality.
I’ve got nothing to work with. I have no clue where he is. I imagine he was probably brought into the trauma unit, and later moved somewhere else. All the info I could get from Kathryn was that he was fine, bruised up with a broken nose, a broken rib and a head injury. She told me he’s staying in the hospital an extra day, and will be back at the office soon.
I could just wait a day to see him. But I need to see him now.
We desperately need to talk. I wonder why he hasn’t called me. He knows I’m carrying his child. Maybe he’s not in a position to, or healthy enough to call. Perhaps Bridget has forbidden him to ever speak to me again.
Or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit.
To not call and leave me hanging, leaving me to wonder, is the cruelest thing he could do. But I’m convinced that he’s not purposely trying to be cruel.
I stand by the counter, in tears. “Well, could you at least give him these on my behalf? His full name is on the card.”
Her face softens as she studies me. “Give them to me. I’ll see what I can do.”
I’m in no state to drive when I leave the hospital. I’m still all shaken up, in sobs. I take a seat on a bench next to a small elderly man who eyes me with pity.
“You’ll be fine, love,” he says.
I want to tell him I won’t be. He has no clue.
I sit there for the longest time. The small elderly man eventually leaves, replaced by a mother and her small daughter. The girl asks her mother why I’m crying. The mother shushes her and tells her it’s because I’m sad. She wipes her daughter’s nose and hands her a small container of Goldfish crackers and a juice box. The duo is then replaced by a sullen teen with messy long hair who doesn’t even acknowledge me. I like her the best. I can finally cry in peace.
When my phone rings again, I roll my eyes. The last thing I want to do right now is explain to Gwen how to make a basic lunch for the girls.
I swallow and blow my nose one last time before I answer. “Hello.”
“Hello, Mirella,” he says. His voice is soft.
My heart seems to stop for a good five seconds.
“Mirella?”
“I’m here, Weston,” I breathe. “I’m here.”
I can hear him breathing. “Mirella, why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is uneven, jagged. I’m not sure but I think he’s crying, or trying hard not to cry.
The sound of his voice completely does me in. “I wanted to tell you,” I cry. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
“How did this happen? How could you let this happen? I trusted you.”
“I was sick, Weston. I was sick and…” It’s no use. It’s too complicated to explain and the damage is already done. What does it matter the reason?
The softness in his voice is gone and his words are hard when he says, “How could you be so irresponsible?”
I feel anger rise within me. My stomach seems to harden as I feel a blush travel to my cheeks. How dare him. “You’re the one who… that night in New York. You didn’t… it takes two to tango, Weston. Don’t put this all on—”
“Did you want this to happen?”
“What?” I snap. “Yes, I wanted to completely mess up my life. I wanted my husband to leave me. I wanted to be doing this kid thing all over again.” I’m yelling and the sullen girl is sure paying attention now.
“You didn’t even come to me. Gabe told me you were already in the second trimester.”
“I wanted—”
“I’d wager you didn’t even consider your options. You didn’t even consider where I stood in all this.” His loud stern voice is shrill in my ear. “You didn’t even care, you selfish, selfish woman.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say. He’s broken me down. I’m like a lifeless ragdoll with a missing eye, tossed in the corner.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he says.
“I’m sorry I got knocked up,” I cry. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry Gabe beat the crap out of—”
“That was his crime, not yours.”
“But still, I’m so sorry he hurt you.”
“He didn’t hurt me, Mirella,” he tells me, his voice eerily even, “…he humiliated me.”