Chapter 4

The next morning, I went back to the apartment Elliot and I were supposed to move into after the honeymoon.

The place was still full of wedding things.

Unopened gifts sat against the wall. A bottle of champagne waited in the fridge. On the kitchen counter, there was a stack of thank-you cards I had planned to write after we came back from Iceland.

I stood there for a moment, looking at the life we had arranged piece by piece.

Then I opened my suitcase and started packing.

My clothes. My books. The jewelry box my mother gave me when I graduated. The framed photo of my parents from the bedroom dresser.

I left the new towels, the dishes, the expensive coffee machine from one of Elliot's partners. They belonged to the home we never got to have.

I was folding a sweater when the front door opened.

Elliot stepped inside.

He had changed out of his tuxedo, but he looked like he had not slept. His hair was damp from the rain, and his coat hung open over a dark sweater I had bought him last winter.

He stopped when he saw the suitcase.

"Nora."

"You shouldn't be here," I said.

"It's my apartment too."

"Then I'll be quick."

He looked at me for a long moment, then shut the door behind him.

"I talked to HR this morning," he said. "Tessa is being moved to the Westchester office. She won't be on my cases anymore."

I kept packing.

"So she stays at the firm."

"She's twenty-three. She has no family in New York. I'm not going to destroy her career because she had a panic attack."

I looked up at him.

"You left your wedding because she had a panic attack."

His face tightened.

"I know."

"No, Elliot. I don't think you do."

He came closer, then stopped when I stepped back.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have called an ambulance. I should have called someone else. I made the wrong choice."

"But you still chose."

He had no answer to that.

For years, Elliot had always known what to say. In court, in meetings, at dinner with my parents, even when he disappointed me. He could make almost anything sound reasonable if you gave him enough time.

That morning, I didn't want to give him time.

I zipped one side of the suitcase.

"I changed the flights," he said suddenly.

I paused.

"What?"

"Iceland." His voice softened. "We don't have to go now. I pushed the tickets back. A few months, maybe. Whenever you're ready."

I looked at him, almost unable to believe he had said it.

The trip had been my dream for years. Black sand beaches. The northern lights. A whole week where Elliot promised he would turn off his work phone and just be with me.

It had been our honeymoon.

Now he was offering it like a bandage.

"Cancel them," I said.

"Nora."

"Cancel the tickets."

His jaw worked.

"When things calm down, we can have another ceremony. Smaller this time. Just family. I'll explain everything."

"You still think this is about the wedding."

"I think yesterday was a disaster, and I'm trying to fix it."

"There is no fixing it with me."

He reached for my hand.

I moved away before he could touch me.

The movement seemed to hit him harder than my words.

A folder slipped from the open suitcase and fell onto the floor. A paper slid out.

For one second, neither of us moved.

Then Elliot bent down and picked it up.

"Don't," I said.

But he had already seen it.

My name. The clinic letterhead. The blood test result printed in plain black text.

Positive.

Elliot went still.

"You're pregnant?"

I took the paper from him.

"I found out last week."

His eyes searched mine.

"Last week?"

"I was going to tell you after the wedding."

For a moment, his face changed completely.

The anger, the guilt, the careful control all disappeared. What was left looked almost like joy.

"Nora," he whispered.

I hated that part of me still remembered how I had imagined this moment.

I had pictured him laughing in disbelief. Pulling me close. Pressing his hand against my stomach even though there was nothing to feel yet.

Instead, we were standing beside a half-packed suitcase in the apartment where we were supposed to start our married life.

Elliot took a slow breath.

"Okay," he said. "Then we slow down. You stay with your parents for a few days. I'll give you space. We don't talk about another ceremony yet."

I looked at him.

"You'll give me space?"

"Yes. Whatever you need."

"You're already deciding what I need."

His voice lowered.

"You're carrying our child, Nora."

There it was.

Our child.

He said it like it changed everything. Like the baby could pull me back to him. Like yesterday could be folded away because now there was something bigger at stake.

"This doesn't put us back together," I said.

"I'm not saying it does."

"You are."

He looked away.

My lower stomach tightened then, a dull cramp that made me press one hand against my abdomen.

Elliot noticed immediately.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're pale."

"I said it's nothing."

His phone rang before he could answer.

Neither of us moved.

It stopped, then started again.

Elliot took it out and glanced at the screen.

The name wasn't Tessa's, but his expression told me enough.

"It's the office," he said.

I pulled the suitcase upright.

He answered near the window, voice low.

"What happened?"

A pause.

His eyes closed.

"Where is she now?"

I looked away.

Tessa again.

Even when she wasn't in the room, she was still between us.

Elliot ended the call and turned back.

"She found out about the transfer. She's having another breakdown at the firm. I'm not going to see her, I just need to make sure HR handles it properly."

"You don't have to explain."

That seemed to scare him more than if I had shouted.

"Nora, please. Don't shut me out of this. Whatever happens between us, I want to be there for the baby."

The cramp came again, sharper this time.

I gripped the suitcase handle until it passed.

"You should have been there yesterday."

Then I left.

That evening, the spotting started.

At first, it was faint enough that I tried to stay calm. I told myself early spotting could happen. I told myself the cramps were from stress, from the fall, from a day and night of barely eating.

By midnight, the pain was worse.

My mother drove me to the hospital before dawn.

She didn't ask whether I wanted Elliot called. She only wrapped a sweater around my shoulders and helped me into the passenger seat.

In the emergency department, the nurse took my blood pressure and asked how far along I was. They drew blood. They ordered an ultrasound. Everyone was gentle, which frightened me more than if they had rushed.

The doctor came in after the results.

She pulled the curtain closed.

"I'm sorry," she said.

My mother's hand closed around mine.

The doctor explained that the hormone levels were lower than expected. The ultrasound didn't show what they hoped to see at nearly seven weeks. It was an early pregnancy loss, she said softly. It might have already been happening. Nothing I did caused it.

She repeated that last part.

I nodded because I understood the words.

I just couldn't feel them.

They moved me to a small observation room and gave me medication for the pain. My mother sat beside the bed, holding my hand while I drifted in and out of sleep.

Elliot called three times.

I didn't answer.

A little after noon, the door opened.

Elliot stood there with a bouquet of pale pink roses in his hand.

For a moment, he only stared at me.

Then his eyes moved to the IV in my arm, the blanket over my stomach, the folded discharge papers on the bedside table.

My mother stood.

"You need to leave."

Elliot didn't seem to hear her.

"Nora," he said, his voice rough. "What happened?"

I looked at the flowers in his hand.

Pink roses again, too late for the wedding, too late for the apology, too late for everything that had mattered.

He took one step closer.

"I went to your parents' place. Your father said you were here." His face had gone pale. "Is the baby okay?"

No one answered.

That was answer enough.

The flowers slipped lower in his hand.

"Nora," he whispered. "Tell me."

I was too tired to soften it for him.

"The baby's gone."