Meanwhile the baby in my belly, already six months along, was nothing to him—just an inconvenience he'd rather not carry.
I ignored the pounding on the door and walked into the closet.
Pulled out my black suitcase.
Threw in a few things I wore often, no order, no care.
I'd barely zipped it shut when the housekeeper came rushing in with a spare key and got the bathroom door open.
Joel stormed out in a bathrobe, hair still dripping.
He crossed the room in a few strides, stopped in front of me, and raised his hand.
I didn't flinch. Didn't move. Just looked at him, cold.
His hand hung in the air, then slammed into the closet door beside me.
"Are you insane? You sneak back without a word just to lock us in the bathroom?"
Lillian followed him out.
She was wrapped in my silk robe.
The one Joel had brought back from his Paris trip last month, swearing he'd had it custom-made for me and only me.
She padded barefoot to my vanity.
Picked up my most expensive prenatal medication.
"Pauline, please don't be mad at Joel. It's all my fault."
She was still shaping the apology when her fingers opened.
A sharp crack.
The glass bottle hit the floor and white pills scattered everywhere.