My Fiancé Postponed Our Wedding for His Ex

I stood at the second-floor landing, one hand pressed to my stomach. The bleeding had stopped two days ago. I'd checked again this morning. Still nothing. Just the hollow ache that wouldn't go away.

I heard small footsteps behind me.

Noemi appeared at the top of the stairs. She wasn't crying. Wasn't smiling. Her face was blank in a way that made my skin prickle.

I turned toward her. "Hey, sweetie. Where's your mom?"

She didn't answer. Just walked closer.

I moved to step around her, back toward the hallway. "Let's go find—"

Two small hands hit my back. Hard.

I didn't have time to grab the railing. My body pitched forward. The world tilted. I saw the bottom of the stairs rushing up. My shoulder slammed into the banister. My hip cracked against the edge of a step. Then another. Then the floor.

I landed curled around myself, arms wrapped over my stomach. The impact punched the air from my lungs. Pain exploded through my pelvis, my ribs, my spine.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Just lay there, waiting for the pain to make sense.

Then the cramping started.

Deep. Low. Wrong.

I pressed both hands between my legs and felt warmth spreading.

No. No no no.

Footsteps thundered down the hall above me. Camille's voice, high and panicked. "Vance! Oh God, Vance!"

I tried to push myself up. My arms shook. The cramping got worse.

"Stay down," Camille said. She was beside me suddenly, hand on my shoulder, pressing me flat. Her voice dropped to a whisper only I could hear. "Don't move. You'll make it worse."

Vance crashed through the front door. "What happened?"

Camille was already crying. She scooped Noemi into her arms. The little girl buried her face in her mother's neck, shoulders shaking with perfect, silent sobs.

"She tried to push Noemi," Camille gasped. "I saw her. At the top of the stairs. She was reaching for her and Noemi backed away and then Elsie just—she lost her balance. Oh God, Vance, she almost took Noemi down with her."

I turned my head. Stared up at Vance. "That's not—"

"She's lying," I whispered. Blood was soaking through my jeans now. I could feel it. "Vance. Please. The baby."

His face went white. "What baby?"

"Our baby." My voice cracked. "I was going to tell you. After the wedding. I was—"

Camille made a soft sound. Sympathetic. Devastated. "Oh, Elsie. Sweetheart. There's no baby. The stress, the paranoia—you're not thinking clearly."

"I'm pregnant," I said. Louder. "Six weeks. I took three tests. I was waiting for the right time."

Vance looked at Camille. Then at Noemi, still trembling in her arms. Then back at me.

"We need to get you to a hospital," he said finally.

"Yes," I breathed. "Please."

He pulled out his phone. Stared at it. Then put it away. "Actually. Let me get the car. I'll drive you myself."

Camille touched his arm. "Are you sure? An ambulance might be faster."

"I'm sure." His voice was flat. He looked at me like I was something broken he didn't know how to fix. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

He walked out.

Camille waited until the door closed. Then she crouched beside me, still holding Noemi. Her voice was soft. Gentle. Almost kind.

"You should have left when you had the chance," she whispered. "Now you have nothing."

She smiled. Stood. Carried Noemi upstairs.

I lay on the floor and pressed my hands between my legs and felt my baby leaving me.

Vance came back twenty minutes later. The cramping had turned into something else by then. Something final.

He drove me to the hospital. Didn't hold my hand. Didn't speak.

They took me into an exam room. A doctor with tired eyes did an ultrasound. Pressed the wand against my abdomen. Stared at the screen.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "There's no heartbeat."

I already knew. I'd felt it stop somewhere between the stairs and the car.

"How far along was she?" Vance asked from the doorway.

The doctor glanced at him. "About six weeks. Recent trauma likely caused the miscarriage. A fall, maybe, or—"

"She fell down the stairs," Vance said. "At home. An accident."

The doctor's gaze sharpened. She looked at me. "Is that what happened?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Vance was watching me with an expression I couldn't read.

"Yes," I whispered. "An accident."

The doctor didn't look convinced. But she nodded. "We'll need to do a D&C. Make sure everything passes safely. I'll have a nurse come prep you."

She left.

Vance stayed in the doorway. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to. After the wedding."

"There was no wedding."

"I know."

Silence. Then: "Camille said you've been acting erratic. Aggressive toward Noemi. She's been worried."

I stared at the ceiling. "She pushed me, Vance."

"Noemi is three years old."

"She was coached."

"Jesus Christ, Els." He dragged a hand through his hair. "Do you hear yourself? You're accusing a dying woman and a toddler of—what? Conspiracy?"

"Yes," I said. "That's exactly what I'm accusing them of."

He looked at me for a long time. Then he shook his head. "I'll be in the waiting room."

He walked out.

I lay on the exam table, hands pressed flat against my empty stomach, and didn't cry.

There was nothing left to cry for.