Her knees felt bruised and she thought she may have dislocated a rib by the time the dry-heaving finally stopped and she felt it was safe to rise, flush the toilet, rinse her mouth. She caught her own eyes in her reflection in the mirror as she used a too-white hotel towel to pat her face dry; bloodshot and shiny with unshed tears. Those tears finally flooded over, as tended to happen when she allowed herself to get lost in her brokenness. It was a pattern, like the rest of her life, she depended on her routines so much that even a meltdown had that predictability. First, a cold detachment where she did what she needed to do until she was in a safe place away from prying eyes. Then, she would be sick, vomiting violently until she had burst blood vessels in her face and was nearly crippled by searing pain in her rib cage and back. Only after she'd cleaned herself up would the tears finally come like a reckoning: ugly, bone-shaking, gut-wrenching sobs. When she'd cried herself dry, she slipped back into her resolve and pulled on her swimming costume to completely exhaust herself in some pool somewhere. Then, collapse, sweet, sweet surrender to sleep, a sleep where she would not dream.
What had brought the icy Stella Gibson to her knees? Paul Spector, but not in the way one might think. It hadn't been his crimes, horrifying as they were. Not his taunting of her. Not his invasion of her hotel room and her dream diary. Not his insinuation that her father had fucked her as a child. No, it was just two little words: barren spinster. Stella Gibson was a barren spinster and couldn't possible understand how a parent felt toward their children or any other child. The ache that had started when Reed had asked her if she had children became unbearable with Spector's crass assessment of her life. She knew all too well, the agony that children bring, how their innocent faces can slash into a person's heart so thoroughly, you feel like all your blood has gone out of you and taken your soul with it...
Once upon a time Stella Hope Gibson had been the center of her father's world and he had been hers. When he passed a feeling like drowning swept over her, bringing with it a strong fear of abandonment like she'd never experienced before, having just assumed her whole life that he'd be there whenever she needed or wanted him to be. But he was gone and she didn't like the feeling of vulnerability that came with losing. Stella had always been a strong girl… independent to a fault… bossy, her teachers called her. But, this was the first time she intentionally worked to build the walls around her heart to guard her from this feeling of loss, loneliness, and abandonment she felt. Turns out, she was good at building walls, emotional walls, so much so that co-workers nicknamed her Ice Queen- princess being too sweet for the untouchable Stella.
Then there was Dean Barrett, he was handsome in an arrogant way, the type Stella hated. But, he wanted her and Dean Barrett was not someone who was easily put off by a blonde with a bad attitude and foul mouth… it just made him more determined to have her. He knew how to work slowly, engaging Stella in casual conversation, learning her habits… her hurts… her hang-ups. He developed his interest from friendship to something undefinable to Stella with a single wild flower dropped on her desk or an iced tea waiting for her after a mind-numbing long meeting. Eventually, he convinced her to go to dinner with him… a film… a day at the shore… a night in his bed. He had her, all of her. And, she had something of his, a piece of him that he'd left within her during one of their numerous nights together. She was pregnant when he convinced her to marry him. True to his nature, once Dean Barrett had what he desired, he no longer wanted it, he no longer wanted her.
For two weeks after agreeing to marry him, Stella heard nothing of nor from Dean Barrett, she was confused and emotional, two feelings she resented. When he finally sought her out again she'd been sitting in a small diner alone, finally no longer a slave to morning sickness, attacking a burger with extra pickles.
"Geez, Stella, don't you think you should lay off the burgers?" He sounded utterly disgusted with her behavior. Stella paused, shocked, almost throwing the meal back on her plate. Logically, she knew she didn't look fat, didn't even look pregnant for that matter, with the baggy t-shirt and slacks she wore. She'd been violently ill for three months, losing ten pounds off her already slight frame. The month that had passed since the constant nausea finally ceased had only been enough to put half of that ten pounds back on. Still, she never ate another burger in public since then, opting for "cleaner" choices like salads or grilled chicken or fish and vegetables. If she wanted a burger, she waited til she was behind a locked door and all alone before indulging.
It'd taken Dean Barrett and his arrogance over a year to make Stella his creature… and only a few weeks to completely destroy her with sudden cruelty. She'd cried, hard, for more than a day, then remembered something from her anthropology courses. The Mosou women of China, living in matrilineal society, controlled the men in their lives with a sexual prowess that Stella envied and decided she appreciated. So, she rebuilt the walls, stronger this time, love was for family and friends. She knew she was capable of affection without commitment, on her terms, the only hurdle in her future was the child that just grew bigger and stronger every day.
Stella ran for the hills… actually, the opposite, being from a smaller city in the north of England, she headed for the large metropolis of London. A month before she was due to deliver her new midwife informed her that she was beginning to show the physical signs of impending labour. It would be alright, even a month early, the child would very likely be fine and as a first time mother, those signs might just make a liar of the midwife. It didn't compute until three days later when Stella awoke gasping for breath from a sharp, ripping pain deep in her abdomen. Something was very wrong, whether or not this was her first time didn't matter, Stella had dutifully read the information packets and books recommended by the midwife. These were not rhythmic cramps, not contractions, this was searing, tearing, frightening pain that didn't end.
She braced herself and tossed back her covers, doing so her eyes and skin coordinated together that her legs her covered in her own blood that was still coming heavily. The pain wasn't the only reason for her lightheadedness and she reached for the phone beside her bed. Dialing 999 she worked her way to the door to unlatch it for the paramedics, she had a sinking feeling she should not wait for a knock, that it may be too late for her if she did. Sure enough, the darkness descended as the operator asked her if she could hear the sirens, reassuring her that help was close, just a couple more minutes…
"Stella? Stella, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand."
All she could do was whimper, the pain was joined by a crushing sensation and pressure in a place that scared her. She wanted to scream and would have been had she the energy to do so.
"Stella? You've got to push. Push, sweetheart, help your baby so we can help you."
There was no way, she couldn't put together enough consciousness to open her eyes, let alone intentionally concentrate her energy into pushing into the pressure coming down around her center.
"You're almost there Stella, stay with us, just a little more… Keep that pitocin going… She's going to need more blood and platelets. You! Call the lab and get blood up here!"
There was something like a rushing sensation and then relief, followed by darkness, the announcement that it was a boy barely reached Stella's ears before she let herself float away in the dark.
All too soon, there was pain again, irritating cramps that just kept coming every few minutes. Stella pried her own eyes open and took in her surroundings. A slight stinging in her hand alerted her to the IV where a few different substances flowed directly into her veins. There one red and a couple of clear. Between her legs hurt like nothing she could describe; ache? bruise? sting? burn? stabbing? There wasn't a word and her ears started ringing with anxiety as she fumbled for the call button.
"Ms. Gibson, you're awake. How are you feeling?"
Nurse Obvious was lucky Stella was pretty much tied down and in way too much pain to respond with much more than a pathetic groan. Nurse Obvious used a spare port in the IV to add something to Stella's bloodstream that had to be magical, Stella thought.
"This is morphine, give it a moment, it should start working very quickly."
A quiet rap at the door announced the midwife, a sad look on her face as she approached Stella's side. The baby, the baby must not have made it through the traumatic delivery.
"Actually, we were able to get him back, he's in the NICU. However, the most recent tests show limited to no brain function. Stella, your placenta tore away from the uterine wall. It's not a completely uncommon occurrence, partial abruptions can happen with little to no ill effect on the fetus. But, Stella, you had a complete abruption, a complete tearing away of the placenta that left your son without a source of oxygen for an undetermined amount of time."
Her breath was caught somewhere between her lungs and mouth. She'd not been overjoyed upon discovering her pregnancy, but she hadn't wanted the child to die.
"If you'd like to hold him until he passes, I can bring him to you."
Stella didn't know why she did, but she'd pulled off the hospital gown covering her and settled the tiny boy on her bare chest, pulling the covers over them both. She was still, only breathing and stroking the soft, downy curls that covered the child's head. Frederick Gibson, named for his grandfather, managed to open his eyes just once to stare into his mother's identical blue eyes and silently forgive her for his short life.
Two weeks later, having refused the wheelchair escort, Stella Gibson left the hospital a barren spinster with her shoulders back, eyes forward, and a purposeful stride.