He didn't ask if I'd been hurt. He didn't spare a thought for the child inside me. He simply shoved me aside, pulled Alice into his arms, and murmured to her in a voice so tender it could have cradled glass: "Sweetheart, don't waste your energy on her. Let's go home."
But Alice wasn't finished. She twisted in his embrace and shrieked, "What about that bastard she's carrying?!"
Dustin's gaze drifted over my stomach, light and dismissive, like he was looking at something that belonged in the trash.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."
Cold crawled up my spine. Somewhere deep inside me, something shattered.
I braced myself against the wall, coughing so hard that tears streamed down my face. I couldn't tell anymore whether they were from the pain or from the part of me that had just died.
Seven days.
I only needed seven days, and I could leave the man who had turned me into a joke. Leave this city soaked in my grief.
No more silent suffering as Mrs. Delgado. I was going to live for myself.
...
It all happened that morning. Alice used her "Mrs. Delgado" privileges to sweet-talk the hotel manager into handing over my keycard.