The Day I Miscarried, He Was Delivering Another Woman’s Baby Chapter 07

The Day I Miscarried, He Was Delivering Another Woman’s Baby Chapter 07

Soren went rigid. Like the words hadn’t registered.

“What did you just say?”

Kevin looked at him. His shock seemed even deeper.

“Don’t tell me you still don’t know about her miscarriage. Or her parents’ deaths.”

Soren knew Kevin.

Kevin would never joke about something like this.

He grabbed Kevin’s arm. His voice was shaking.

“Tell me. When?”

“Afternoon of May 9th. The ambulance brought her back from Flatbush Avenue. She said she was distracted on the street. She nearly got hit by a motorcycle. She miscarried. Hemorrhaged.”

“Her parents heard the news. They were driving to the hospital in the rain. Bad crash. Her father died on impact. Her mother was taken in for emergency surgery.”

“Her condition was extremely complex. That day, the senior surgeons were either already in the OR or out of town. I told her if you could come back and do the surgery yourself, there might be a chance.”

“She called you over seventy times. You didn’t pick up once.”

Kevin’s voice cracked with the weight of it.

“Alessa was on the operating table herself. Her hands were covered in blood. She still had to give verbal consent for her mother’s surgery over the phone.”

“When you finally called back, her mother was already gone. The baby was already gone.”

“I don’t know why she never told you after that. But I will never forget the sight of her sitting outside that operating room. Crying so hard no sound came out. Half the nurses and doctors on that floor were in tears.”

The color in Soren’s face drained away.

The signs had been there.

The seventy-plus distress calls.

The corner of the death certificate sticking out of my bag.

The words I screamed at him in the pet shop.

All he had to do was ask once. Stop once. Check once.

He didn’t.

Soren was a smart man.

He could probably guess why I was so distracted on that street.

The place I was hurt. It was near that restaurant.

Where I’d seen my husband—the one who should’ve been at my prenatal appointment—kissing another woman.

He was probably starting to understand. What I had endured alone.

Losing our child.

Losing my parents.

And then watching him run to Tessa. Every single time.

No wonder I had cried like that over a sweater.

No wonder my eyes when I looked at him before leaving were dead.

The night he put ointment on my face, he’d seen the disgust in my eyes.

He’d just thought I was still angry. That I’d get over it in a few days.

But by then, I was already done.