"I'm sorry, but there's really nothing between us! Please, just let me go…"
She threw herself against Curt, clinging to him as she wailed.
He frowned, and the look he turned on me was terrifyingly cold.
"Millie, maybe if you spent less time looking for trouble and more time cleaning up after yourself, we wouldn't be here."
"If Bernice hadn't tripped over your mess, we wouldn't even be at the hospital."
The mess he meant was the stroller and the little toys I'd bought for our baby.
I stood there for a long time, frozen, until the doctor called my number.
I walked in and laid the test results on the desk. The baby couldn't be saved.
"Get rid of it."
The baby was gone. Everything I'd prepared could be thrown away too.
I dragged myself home, light-headed and still bleeding through the pad they'd given me.
Curt was standing in the doorway. He paused, then said:
"You rushed out this morning and left jujube slices all over the sink. Clean it up."
"And there's hair on the floor. Sweep it."
"Bernice is coming over later to work on her thesis. She can't stand mess."
I braced myself against the sink, tears pouring down my face.
I never set foot in that house again.
I got rid of every dress, every short-sleeved top—anything that left skin bare. Long sleeves, high collars, day and night, drifting through the hours like something half-erased.
I think something in me broke too.
Half a month later, I received an apology from Curt. I put on my floral dress, brought the divorce papers, and went to meet him.
I wanted to give this marriage one last scrap of dignity.
What waited for me instead was my own death.
I came back to myself, hearing Curt's voice, absolute and unyielding.
"Impossible! Bernice isn't Millie. She wouldn't gamble with her own life!"
"Besides, I'm her husband. I can tell when she's afraid."
His voice cracked as he went on.
"Bernice is timid. She's carrying a child. If something happens to her, I won't go on living either."
"Captain Carter, I'm begging you. Find her."
"Don't worry. We've already dispatched officers to trace the shirt buyer. The Forensics Unit is working on the kidnapper's facial features as we speak."
"Before midnight, we'll have something. Guaranteed."
Right then, a cheer erupted from the Forensics Unit.
"Got it!"
Curt's head snapped up, eyes full of desperate hope.
"We've cracked the pixelation data. Our specialist is reconstructing the facial composite now."