I had barely stepped out of the bedroom when I saw Chester coming out of his study.
The smile from his video call with Glenda was still sitting on his face.
The moment he noticed me, his lips pressed together and he signed.
Going back to the office? Don't overdo it.
I gave a quiet "mm," but couldn't stop the sadness from leaking through.
Chester rushed over and pulled me into his arms.
His hand settled on my flat, hollow stomach, as if grieving the baby we'd just lost.
Except none of it was real.
He'd watched me bleed out on that floor and done nothing. What grief could he possibly share with me?
All of this—the arms, the tenderness—was just to keep me calm, keep me obedient, keep me running his company the way I always had.
That was the only way he could give Glenda his undivided attention.
I pried his fingers off me, turned around, and asked him:
"Your condition. When is it going to get better?"
His fingers flew over the screen, and the mechanical voice played from his phone.
Georgina, do you still look down on me for being mute?
That day you miscarried—I wasn't ignoring you. I had another episode.
If you think I'm just dead weight, I can let you go.