Chapter 1

At 11:47 p.m., the line on the fetal monitor went flat. The doctor removed the probe.

"There's no heartbeat. We need to deliver the baby right away."

When the anesthesiologist asked for my consent for the third time, I looked down at my phone. Emmett Shaw's message from two hours earlier was still on the screen.

[I owe her one fireworks show. Once it's over, we're even.]

I turned my phone facedown. "Don't wait for him. Go ahead."

Even after the anesthesia kicked in, I felt a deep, heavy ache low in my belly. Cold sweat trickled from my forehead into my ears, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

By the time it was over, someone outside was shouting, "Happy Valentine's Day!"

Yet the man who once carefully wrote our baby's nickname on the back of my appointment slip never showed up.

At 1 a.m., they wheeled me into a private room. My abdomen hurt so badly that I couldn't fall asleep.

Then my phone lit up.

Melissa Doyle posted photos from a rooftop restaurant, fireworks bursting overhead as Emmett leaned down to drape his coat around her shoulders.

[At 19, I missed the fireworks. At 29, he rented out an entire rooftop so I could finally see them.

[He says you should always keep your promises and never leave a debt unpaid.]

Emmett's friends filled the comments with jokes.

[Emmett really can't stand owing anyone, can he? How many IOUs are left?]

[Always keeps his word, that guy. Bet Mrs. Baby Trap's gonna go on another hunger strike at the hospital.]

[Don't be mad, Mrs. Shaw. Once he's paid her back, you can have him all to yourself.]

My finger hovered over the comments.

Seven years ago, when Emmett first introduced me to these people, someone made a joke about my family.

He set his glass down and told them, in front of everyone, that I was with him. If they couldn't treat me with respect, they could stop calling him a friend.

On the cab ride home, he held my hand. "Katie, you don't have to win them over. I'll make sure they respect you."

Now, they were laughing about my dead baby and my marriage, and there he was in the photo.

The hospital administrator came in with the head nurse, both looking uncomfortable.

"Ms. Ross, I'm very sorry. The private nurse and pain pump arranged for you have been reassigned to a patient in the VIP ward downstairs."

I stared at them, slowly clenching my hand beneath the blanket. The head nurse wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Mr. Shaw called half an hour ago. He said you'd been sick and uncomfortable throughout your pregnancy, so you were probably used to it by now."

"Did he know we lost the baby?"

"No one got a chance to tell him. Ms. Doyle sprained her ankle badly, and he carried her out himself." Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "I can try to get you a regular pain pump from another ward, but we're short tonight. It might take until morning."

I watched the fluid drip through my IV. Whatever hope I still had drained away.

"Don't bother."

I pulled the IV out of my bruised hand, and blood welled up. The nurse hurried over, but I turned away and pressed a piece of gauze against it myself.

Just before dawn, I shuffled to the corner of the room, bracing myself against the wall. My hospital bag sat there with the tiny socks I knitted, the onesie I washed three times, and a little gold cross.

When I was four months pregnant, I felt the baby kick for the first time while Emmett was on a video call with overseas clients. I told him it was fine, that work came first, but he frowned.

"You don't always have to let me off the hook," he said. "I'm supposed to be here for you."

He came home late that night and fastened an expensive gold necklace around my neck, the charm cold against my throat.

"I always pay my debts, Katie. Especially to you."

He brushed his thumb over the curve of my belly.