LOGINMONIQUE
“You shameless bitch!” Laurel’s slap cracked across my face the moment we reached the hospital. “What did you do to my son? What the hell did you do to him, Monique?!” She seized both my arms, her short nails biting into my skin. “L-Laurel!” I broke down completely, sobs tearing out of me uncontrollably. My eyes had been swollen for hours. My body felt hollow, drained. From the instant the truck struck Maxwell until this moment, I still couldn’t stop crying. His blood stained my clothes from when I’d tried to help him right after the crash. Passersby had rushed over the second they saw us. The hospital was only steps away, so he was inside almost immediately. The doctors and nurses still hadn’t come out of the operating room. My knees buckled. I dropped to the floor in front of Laurel. “M-Maxwell, he.. I don’t want to lose him… I can’t accept this. I'm sorry!” “This is your fault he’s in there right now!” she shouted. “Because you’re so desperate, this is what happened! All that talk about accepting the divorce was just an act. If it wasn’t, how could any of this have happened, Monique?!” She pounded her fists against my head, rage pouring out of her. “No! That’s not what happened!” I shielded my head with my arms and crumpled under the blows. “The divorce was enough for me… I accepted that Maxwell chose Elise. He’s yours now—I can live with that. But I can’t live with him being gone forever! Laurel, please… save him! Please!” I clung to her legs, desperate. “I don’t want it to end like this… please, save him…” “You worthless—” Laurel yanked at her own hair, her face flushed crimson. “Damn it! Why did this have to happen?!” “Maxwell! Where is Maxwell?!” Elise’s voice echoed down the hallway, running. “Monique! What did you do to Maxwell? What did you do to my husband?!” Husband? Are they already..? Elise started kicking me. I gasped in pain, but even as my chest felt like it was caving in, I pushed myself up and wrapped my arms protectively around my belly. Through blurred vision I looked up at her. “It was an accident, Elise! I was the one who was supposed to get hit—Maxwell saved my life—” “You animal! So it really is your fault!” She lunged forward and yanked my hair so hard the hallway spun. “You wanted to kill him, didn’t you? You’re a monster, Monique! You’re evil! We were finally living in peace, about to get married! But you went too far—you wanted to take Ambrose's father away from us! You’re horrible!” No one tried to stop Elise. Not Laurel, not Derrick. “Stop! Please stop!” I screamed through my tears as she slammed my back against the wall. I never let go of my stomach. “I didn’t want this to happen to him… please believe me. I don’t want him gone! Elise, please… I never wanted any of this!” When she finally let go, I panted and wiped my tears away Elise pointed at me, her face twisted with hatred. “I will never forgive you for this, Monique. I don't want to do anything with a murderer!” “E-Elise, it was an accident—” “Really? Then why were you even with Maxwell in the first place? Isn’t this all an act? Did you call him so you could do this to him?!” “I said that's not what happened!" “Stop pretending to be innocent, Monique.” Derrick cut in sharply. “You must have had some plan. That’s why it ended up like this.” I buried my face in my hands and cried. A heavy lump lodged in my throat, choking off any defense I could offer. It felt as if my heart were being crushed. I had seen the blood pouring from Maxwell’s body. I had seen the deep gash on his head. I was terrified the doctors would walk out with the worst news. Yes, I had cursed him for what he did to me. Many times I had wanted to hurt him—in my mind, in my heart. But never like this. Never to the point of death. It would be fine if he wasn’t with me anymore. I could live with that. But the thought of him leaving this world completely… I couldn’t bear it. The man I had loved for years, the man who had once been my entire life, how could I ever accept losing him this way? No… I could never accept this. – A few hours later, the waiting area had grown quieter, but the tension still hung thick in the air. I sat slumped in a corner chair, exhausted, my arms wrapped protectively around my belly. Suddenly, hurried footsteps approached. “Mon!” Chelsea rushed toward me, her face filled with worry. She dropped to her knees and pulled me into a tight embrace. “Oh God, Mon… I came as soon as I received your text. Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” I broke down again in her arms, fresh sobs shaking my body. Chelsea held me tighter, rubbing my back in slow, soothing circles. “Shhh… breathe, sweetheart. It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered firmly. “None of this is your fault. You hear me? It was an accident. Maxwell chose to save you. You didn’t push him in front of that truck.” She pulled back slightly and cupped my tear-streaked face with both hands, forcing me to meet her eyes. “You need to go home for now. The Lohr family is out for blood. If you stay here, they’ll just keep beating you—physically and emotionally. You can’t take much more of this, especially not in your condition.” “B-But, Maxwell..” Chelsea leaned closer, lowering her voice to a soft whisper. “Do it for your baby, Mon. Think about your child. You can't stay here anymore. Not like this.” I stared at her through blurred vision, her words slowly sinking in through the fog of grief and exhaustion.MONIQUELaurel did not wait for evening.She called Maxwell before he left for the office, and he put her on speaker because Reyes had made a religion of the family channel. I stood at the counter with ginger tea and listened to a grandmother discover a landing.“Elise says you threatened her,” Laurel said. “In her own house. With the child in the bath. After she did nothing but ask which life is real.”“I told her not to use a clinic lobby,” Maxwell said. “That is the sentence. The rest is costume.”“The rest is a mother who has been quiet in front of a boy while you grow a second life in a house you will not open.” Laurel’s voice did not rise. That was how I knew she had already written it down somewhere. “I am asking you, as your mother, to stop treating visibility as an insult. She saw Monique. The rooms are still a mystery. Ambrose asked for a swing. A swing is not a court order.”I set the cup down.“Mrs. Lohr,” I said, because silence would become the empty chair again. “A swin
MAXWELLElise waited until Ambrose was in the bath.That was new. She had used foyers and car roofs and, yesterday, a lobby. Tonight she used the landing, where the water running behind a door made a three-year-old technically present and practically absent.“You can hear him,” she said. “So I won’t raise my voice. I went to her clinic. I didn’t bring him. I said what a mother is allowed to say in a public hall. She walked upstairs like I was a stain.”I kept my hands in my pockets.“You went to her workplace after counsel told you the boy’s mouth was closed. That’s not concern. That’s a second front.”Elise’s smile did not reach the part of her that had watched me on rugs.“The second front already exists. It has a heartbeat. I didn’t name it downstairs. I’m naming the shape of it to you, where he can’t repeat it. A lobby is not a stair. A stair is not a court. You keep coming here full-hour and going home to a woman who won’t show a room. Tell me which life is the real one, Maxwell,
MONIQUEI did not sleep with the conference still in my mouth. I slept with Elise’s sentence.*Congratulations on being visible.*Maxwell had stayed on the outside of the sheet until his breathing evened, then left before dawn for a meeting he claimed was real. I let him. A man who wanted to tell a woman in a corridor that a heartbeat was strong did not need to wake beside the proof.Ross drove me. The bag was in the door pocket again. I did not need it until the elevator at St. Claire, and then only for a minute, over a bin no patient used. Ellie was already in the hall with a file and no comment. She put a cracker on my desk when I sat.“Bad egg,” she said.“Bad egg.”The morning stayed ordinary in the way Reyes liked. Two patients. A note. No Monet on the schedule. I almost believed the look in the corridor had been the end of Elise’s appetite.Janine’s voice on the desk line killed that.“Dr. Sinclair. Miss Monet is in the lobby. No child. She asked for you by name. She said it is
MONIQUEThe ten days did not behave like ten days.They behaved like a clock someone else was winding.Mornings were ginger and Ross and a clinic that still believed I was only a doctor with a bad egg. Evenings were Maxwell leaving at six and coming back with sand or crayon or the taste of another foyer. Chelsea did not come to the house. Denver stayed off the table, which meant Maxwell was keeping at least one promise. Grant texted twice. I logged both and did not answer.On the ninth day Reyes sent a single line.*They detached the overnight request from the inspection. Conference tomorrow. You sit. You do not tour. You do not trade.*I read it in the guest room with the drawer shut.Maxwell stood in the doorway in his office shirt, sleeves already rolled, as if the company had ended early so the war could start on time.“I’m coming,” he said.“I know.”“If Laurel stares, you let Reyes take it.”“If she uses Ambrose as a moral, I will use the paragraph.” I looked at him. “I am tired
CHELSEAI woke before his alarm and hated that I knew where the bathroom was.Denver was on his stomach, one arm thrown across the space I had already started to leave. The room smelled like skin and last night’s wine. My blouse was on the chair. His shirt was closer. I stole it anyway, because some mistakes ought to be consistent, and went to wash my face in a mirror that did not know Monique’s war.When I came back he was awake, watching me with that same unhelpful pride.“Eight,” I said.“I heard you last night.” He sat up, sheet at his waist, unashamed. “Coffee exists. I’m not asking you to call in.”“Good. Don’t look at me like a man who won a case.”“I’m looking at you like a man who wanted morning and got it.” He rubbed his jaw. “Are you going to pretend the bar was only food?”I picked up my skirt.“I’m going to work. I’m going to be late if I give you a verdict.” I stepped into the skirt, Denver’s shirt still on, and felt ridiculous and warm. “What happened here stays off Max
CHELSEADenver invited me after hours as if a bar were a neutral country.It wasn’t. It was his country. Low lights, the same booth Maxwell had gotten stupid in, the smell of citrus peel and old decisions. I went anyway. I had locked the clinic, told Sarah not to wait, and sat across from a man I had already let ruin my sheets once and sworn I would file under *incident*.He looked pleased with himself before I even ordered.“You came.”“I came for food,” I said. “If you start a speech I will leave.”He ordered anyway—wine I didn’t finish, a plate we actually ate. For twenty minutes we did the ordinary thing. His day. My last patient. The weather. Then his mouth tilted.“Max is a wreck in a suit. You would tell me if Monique was drowning.”“I would tell you to mind the part of this war that has your name on it.” I cut a piece of nothing and ate it. “You don’t get their house from me. You get this table.”Denver sat back, pride flickering, then something less cheap.“Fine. This table.”







