Chapter 1I'm scrolling this thread about shitty partners. See my husband's comment.
[Pregnant wife's whining nonstop about the heat. Wants AC on 24/7.]
[My first love's back in town. Can't handle heat—so I moved our best unit to her place.]
[Told wifey we're dead broke. Can't pay bills.]
[She's covering everything. I'm spending HER cash on my ex's Chanel.]
[It's all about BALANCE, boys.]
I look up.
Darius. Standing there in a $5 tee. Holding three crumpled bills.
"Babe, company's going under. Sold the old unit for three hundred bucks. Not much, but... groceries?"
I don't say anything. Just turn on our one busted fan.
He yanks the plug. Sighs.
"I'm two months behind on electric. Landlord's cutting us off. Can't you just deal? For the baby?"
Watched him pull this whole act. I almost laughed.
Liked his comment. Then typed back:
"Cool. Getting an abortion tomorrow. Gotta match your bankruptcy energy."
---
Phone buzzes twice.
Someone probably replied to that comment.
He doesn't notice. Shoves the bills in my pocket.
"Three hundred. Make it last. Don't buy expensive shit."
Like I'm five.
I nod.
"Look, I've been working my ass off for years. Now it's falling apart, I can't sleep."
He's got this whole performance down. Scrunched eyebrows, slumped shoulders.
That shirt? Three days straight. Collar's yellow.
But his hands are clean. Nails perfect.
Doesn't look like someone begging for money.
"Darius. I'm dying here."
"Just hang in there."
He ruffles my hair.
"Two more months."
My back's soaked. Shorts sticking to my thighs.
"Give me ten bucks. I need water."
He pours boiling water from the cooler. Brings it over.
"Pregnant women can't drink cold stuff. Don't be selfish."
Steam hits my face.
I don't take it.
He sets it down. Pats my shoulder.
"Gotta go. Interview."
I walk to the window.
Bus stop's left. He goes right.
Stops across the street. Black rideshare waiting, hazards on.
He gets in. Holding a drink.
Clear cup sweating like crazy. Erewhon logo on it.
Seventy-two bucks.
I wanted one when I was like two months pregnant. He said nah, too expensive. Gave me honey water.
Car drives off.
I pull my hand back. Stomach's cramping.
Sit back down. Holding those three hundreds.
At night, he walks in. Smelling fresh and cool.
Like he's been in AC all day. No sweat.
Collar smells like perfume—not mine. Hands me a plastic bag with a to-go box.
"Got this. Didn't eat myself."
He kicks off shoes. Straight to bathroom.
I open the box. Poke it.
Sour.
Sat too long. Gone bad.
His phone's on the table. Lights up.
[Babe, the bag zipper's stuck. Also is 76 too cold for the AC?]
Picture attached. Designer bag on couch. In the background—MY air conditioner.
Water shuts off.
He unplugs the fridge.
"Nothing in there anyway. Waste."
My vitamins are still inside.
He grabs them. Sets them by the nasty takeout.
"Where you going tomorrow?"
"Begging for money."
Rubs his neck.
"Awkward as hell."
I don't say anything.
He goes to bed.
Once he's breathing heavy, I open the nightstand.
Prenatal paperwork's in there.
I pull out the abortion form.
Sign it.
Chapter 2
Morning hits. Cramps are way worse than yesterday.
I need meds.
Drag myself to the ATM down the block. Stick my card in.
ACCOUNT FROZEN.
Try again. Same shit.
He froze it so I can't check his spending. Can't spend anything.
I stand there. Look at my ring.
One carat. He proposed in front of five hundred people.
"My money's yours. Buy a latte—use my card. I wanna be in this."
Back then his eyes looked real.
I walk to the pawn shop.
Guy checks it forever. Offers three thousand two hundred.
I grab the cash, hit the pharmacy.
Walk outside—holy shit it's hot.
Bus stop's got zero shade. I'm standing there and my vision starts going black.
Car rolls up.
Window's down. Woman inside holding a cold drink, giggling.
Guy's got one hand on the wheel. Other hand opening her straw.
Darius.
Using my account for her drinks. My AC for her 76 degrees.
And I'm here in full sun, soaked.
Car passes.
I call an Uber with pawn money.
Four o'clock, someone knocks.
Natalia. Darius's ex.
She's got this bag of clothes.
"Heard you guys are broke."
She shoves it at me.
"Was gonna toss these anyway."
Smells like mothballs.
She steps in. Two minutes, she's fanning herself with her hand.
"Oh my GOD. No AC? It's a sauna."
She bends down to drop the bag. Her clutch isn't zipped all the way.
A receipt slips out, lands right by my foot.
I pick it up.
Luxury brand. $200,000. Buyer: Darius Hale.
Date: last Wednesday.
Last Wednesday he said he was looking for day jobs.
She reaches for it. Smiling.
"Oops."
Then I hear keys at the door.
Darius walks in, sees her, stops dead.
She wipes the smile off her face. Goes all sweet.
"Just checking in. Think she's mad I'm here."
He looks at me.
"She drove all the way over and this is how you act?"
Every word backs her up.
"What's your problem?"
I look at the mothball clothes. The $200K receipt under my shoe.
"You're right. Thanks."
Darius puts his hand on her shoulder. Walks her out.
"Don't worry about it. She's pregnant. All hormonal right now. I'll handle it."
But he's not handling shit with me.
Door closes. I toss the bag and receipt in the trash.
Pull out my phone and book tomorrow's abortion.
Then put it down.
Darius comes back with noodles. Clear broth. Looks like nothing.
"Gotta make do."
He sets it down. His cuff has a sauce stain.
Same stain from that Nobu spot.
I take a bite.
Tastes like nothing.
Just like this marriage.
Day three, I wake up cramping so bad I can barely move. Dark red spreading on the sheet.
Something warm running down my leg.
Darius isn't here. He's out "looking for money."
I call him.
Takes forever to pick up.
Background's silent except some soft music and AC running.
"What."
"I'm bleeding."
My voice is shaking.
"Send me fifty bucks. I need to get to the hospital."
Silence. I hear him cover the phone: "Pick whatever, I'll be back."
Then he gets back on. Sounds pissed.
"You're doing this shit again? Trying to scare me?"
His voice totally changes—goes all calm.
"Babe. Look. Every time you say something hurts, you ask for money. You're just gonna check where I'm spending it, right?"
"I gotta protect the business accounts. Come on."
He thinks I'm faking.
Thinks a pregnant woman with no money only pretends to be sick so she can stalk his bank statements.
Not giving me fifty? That's not cruel. That's smart.
"Drink hot water. You'll be fine."
Then he hangs up.
I stare. He didn't just hang up—he turned off my Venmo access too.
Phone's burning. I push up. Grab the wall. Start down the stairs.
Six floors. No elevator.
Every step, stomach twists.
Back when I'd get period cramps? He'd literally sprint three blocks in the pouring rain at like 1 AM for brown sugar. Come back soaking wet, throw a heating pad on me.
Now I don't remember jack shit he said.
I'm walking past this all-glass building. Catch my reflection—I look like death.
Hunched over, hair glued to my face.
Inside's that insanely expensive baby center.
Flowers all over the front desk. Some lady in a suit talking to a couple.
I stop.
Darius is there holding cash. Peeling bills off, handing them over.
Next to him—Natalia.
Looking down, shy.
"We don't even know if I'm pregnant yet."
"Don't care. I'm doing this for you."
He says it all soft. Like it's some huge deal.
Another cramp rips through.
I bend. Knees almost hit pavement.
Don't push the door.
I turn around. Walk three blocks to public hospital ER.
Registration. Bloodwork. Ultrasound.
Doctor looks at results. Frowns.
"You're threatening to miscarry. You need to be admitted."
I shake my head.
"Not keeping it. Earliest slot tomorrow? No anesthesia."
She sighs. Writes me meds for the cramps.
Done by 9 PM.
Back to that room with no fan. Throw my bloodstained pants in a bucket of water.
He comes home smelling dry.
Sees the bucket.
Stares at the pink water. His throat moves.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
I don't look up. Hands in water.
"It's hot. Got my period."
He stares two seconds.
I see this flash of panic. Then it's gone—replaced with relief.
He exhales.
"Oh thank God."
He pats my shoulder. Walks to bathroom.
Water starts. Right then I know.
He's not stupid. Knows pregnant women don't get periods.
He's choosing not to know.
Chapter 3
I pull divorce papers from drawer.
Slip under his suit jacket on chair.
Tags still sewn in. Price outline still there. Twelve thousand.
Wears twelve-thousand-dollar suit. Gives me plain noodles in tap water.
Next day I go to the hospital alone. OR lights bright as hell.
I'm flat on my back, feet up in stirrups.
"Where's your family? Who signed?"
Nurse is going through the consent form.
"I'm widowed."
She looks up. Doesn't push it.
The machine kicks on.
I feel something getting ripped out.
The light's burning my eyes.
Then this awful suction sound.
Over.
Nurse hands pad and instruction sheet.
"No sex two weeks. No baths. No cold water."
I sit up. Legs barely work.
Grab the wall to make it to the changing room. Change back into my dress.
My phone goes off.
Darius.
"You home?"
Not where are you.
He just cares if I'm where he wants me.
"Natalia's AC is busted. You're free—go deal with it."
"Don't make us look broke as hell."
I'm holding the railing. My throat's too dry to get words out.
"Yeah. I'll go."
"Cool. Be quick."
He won't ask why I sound like this.
He thinks I'm home right now sipping yesterday's water, sitting around waiting for him to tell me what to do.
His plan for me? Trap me in some shitty place with no AC, no fridge—where I don't use up any of his money.
He used to put his hand on my stomach and go:
"You and this baby? You're gonna run this house. I'm just here to take care of you."
Now those hands are cutting fruit for her.
I call a ride straight to that fancy building by the water.
Get off on nineteen. Door at the end's half open.
I push it and cold air smacks me in the face. Seventy-six.
All the sweat on me just stops.
Living room's massive.
Kitchen's open—Darius has this apron on, chopping up a mango.
Natalia's on the couch sitting cross-legged. Sees me, scrunches her nose.
"Took you long enough."
She points at this wet spot by the balcony.
"AC's dripping everywhere."
Darius pokes his head out. Looks at me.
"Why're you just standing there? Mop's outside. Hurry up—we're going for sushi after."
Doesn't see how white my lips are. Doesn't see my hands shaking.
I open my bag and start pulling stuff out one by one.
First—hospital billing receipt for the abortion.
Eight hundred twenty bucks.
Second—surgical record. Hospital stamp in red.
Third—divorce papers.
My signature's on there. His side's blank.
I stack all three on the coffee table. Right on top of Natalia's shiny new purse.
The sound of his knife hitting the cutting board stops.
"I'm not cleaning that up."
I look at Darius frozen in the kitchen.
"Just got rid of your kid. Can't touch cold water."
His hand with the knife just hangs there mid-air.
"Also? Show's over. Your broke act? I'm done."
