Chapter 2

A year earlier, Seattle was hit by a rare snowstorm. Most of the snow melted the next day, then refroze after dark into a nearly invisible layer of black ice. As I walked from the parking garage toward the sidewalk, my shoes slipped out from under me, and my stomach slammed hard into a low stone step. I didn't notice the blood spreading across my light-colored pants until a coworker caught me.

The ER doctor asked, "Did you know you were pregnant?"

I shook my head.

"You've had a miscarriage. We need to treat you right away."

My period had been a few days late that month, and I'd chalked it up to work stress. The nurse asked me to confirm my emergency contact. Julian was listed first in the system. The first call went unanswered. By the time the eleventh call rolled to voicemail, the doctor was already standing at my bedside with the consent forms.

"You can sign these yourself, but someone needs to pick you up after the procedure and stay with you. Is there anyone else we can call?"

I stared at the eleven missed calls on my screen. "Yes."

Maya rushed over from Bellevue, but by the time she arrived, they were already taking me into the procedure room. Just before the anesthesia pulled me under, a message from Julian finally appeared on my phone.

Still in a meeting in Vancouver. I'll call you later.

Three days later, I returned to the hospital for a follow-up. On my way out, the elevator stopped on the oncology floor, and two nurses stepped in with an equipment cart.

"NorthStar's CEO flew in a specialist from New York for a consultation."

"For his father?"

"No. Apparently, it's for his future father-in-law."

When the doors opened, I saw Julian standing at the end of the hallway, surrounded by Lena's family and several doctors.

He wasn't in Vancouver.

While I was losing our baby, he'd been less than a thousand feet away, arranging the best doctors for another family.

He hadn't spared a single thought for why his own wife was in the hospital.

Maya started to push me toward him, but I held her back. "Let's go home." I shoved the cut-off hospital wristband and the medical forms deep into my bag. Back then, I still wanted answers. I wanted closure for myself, and for what we'd had. I even held on to a sliver of hope: what if it was all a misunderstanding? If we talked it through, could we go back to the time when he loved me?