The Moon Sets over a Sea of Hate

The eighth time I caught Oscar Stanton in a hotel suite, he silently picked up the fruit knife from the nightstand and slashed his wrist eleven times. “Satisfied now?” Blood ran between his fingers and dripped onto the carpet. He looked at me as though I were a madwoman who had driven him to kill himself. I stood frozen, the toy gun still clenched in my hand. For a moment, everything felt strangely unreal. After all, the last time things had gotten this bad, I had kicked his mistress into a crocodile enclosure and demanded that he never see her again. In retaliation, he had buried my mother’s ashes beneath a public restroom. He laughed and said, In retaliation, he had buried my mother’s ashes beneath a public restroom. But now, before he could even determine whether the gun in my hand was real, his face went pale and he pleaded, “Don’t hurt Cammie. She’s pregnant. She can’t handle this kind of shock. “Punish me however you want, but leave the baby out of it.” I froze and placed a hand over my own stomach. “What did you say?” Oscar’s chuckle was light as he closed his eyes. “I’m saying I give in. “Happy now? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” He had finally given in. But he was only doing it to protect another woman’s baby. The fear in his eyes for her made the baby inside me seem like nothing more than an unwanted accident. At that moment, every movement in my womb felt like a cruel joke. Suddenly, I didn’t want to keep losing myself to this madness anymore.