What Grows Dies Here

His words were a promise, absolute determination coating every syllable.

But I heard it as an omen.

I forced my attention back to the TV as he walked away. A tear trailed down my cheek.

I looked away, staring at the wineglass. It was half empty. In another life, it would’ve been half full. But whatever. This life was all I had. So it was half empty.

I had an almost inescapable urge to grab onto it and hurl it against the wall with all my might. I wanted to watch it shatter, wanted to stain my white walls with the blood red wine. I wanted to release the aggression, the fury that was pulsating inside of me.

But I didn’t.

Because if I smashed it, someone would hear. Someone would come running. Someone would clean up my mess. Because no one would let me clean up my own damn mess, and even if they did, I didn’t have the energy. If I was alone, I would have happily left the shards of glass laying around, left the stain to serve as a somewhat comforting mark on my perfectly painted walls. But I was not alone. So I did not throw the glass. I just stared at it.

Then, for reasons that should’ve been inspected by a highly trained psychiatrist, I drained my glass and stood, my feet moving soundlessly through the house until I was standing in the middle of the room I’d just finished designing.

The nursery.

We had one at Karson’s place too. We hadn’t decided where we wanted to live yet.

Well, that wasn’t true. I’d already known I wanted to live in Karson’s cozy cottage by the sea. Not this large, impressive, cold mansion surrounded by manicured gardens and other large, impressive, cold mansions.

So our little family would’ve lived there.

After the closet construction, of course. But I had an entire closet of couture here. I couldn’t leave it behind. Therefore, the baby would have a room here. Just in case.

It was so pretty. Shades of white, soft neutrals. Everything calming and whimsical.

My eyes were dry as I took in the enchanting nursery. The rocking chair where I’d imagined feeding our baby. My feet sank into the soft rug in the room as I walked to the closet, absorbing it all.

There were a lot of clothes there. Not enough, I’d thought just a month ago. Nowhere near enough for my child. But I’d been kind of limited. We hadn’t found out the sex. Because I’d wanted a surprise. I wanted to make an event out of everything.

My mind flickered back to my first trip to an upscale baby store in Beverly Hills. I’d gone alone, mere days after I found out I was pregnant.

“These are precious,” the assistant said as she wrapped up thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes.

I may have gone a bit crazy. I would’ve blamed it on hormones, but that was honestly just who I was as a person.

I smiled down at the fabric. “They really are,” I agreed.

“A friend of yours pregnant?” she asked.

I laughed at the thought. Zoe and Yasmin were both all about their careers, and I cringed to think of the contract Jay would put in place before he impregnated Stella. Then again, things were different between them now. It would be great if we were both pregnant at the same time. She would make a great mother.

It was on that thought that I realized the sales assistant was still waiting for my response. “Oh, it’s me. I’m pregnant,” I told her.

Her eyes widened as her eyes traveled down to my exposed stomach that was still very flat. I was wearing a cropped tee and high waisted jeans that I would not be able to fit in in a few months.

“You look … amazing,” she breathed once she looked back up at me.

“Thanks,” I replied with a warm smile.

“How far along are you? If you don’t mind me asking,” she added quickly.

I waved my hand. “No, I don’t mind at all. I’m only like … four weeks and six days or something. I don’t keep track as well as I should.”

Her eyes widened again at this. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then focused back on wrapping the clothes.

“What?” I asked, interested in what she was going to say.