The girl had stood, precariously perched at the top of the icy steps to her apartment building, for a long time, contemplating if the extreme pain would be entirely worth it. There was a chance that it might not even work in her favor. A high, biting wind ripped through her, and she pulled her coat tighter around herself. The stairs were high enough, for sure, but impact was everything.
She felt suddenly and horrendously ill, and had to clench her jaw shut. How could she even be considering such a thing as this? Ivanka's bubbly laugh echoed down the stairs, forcibly reminding her of all the joy the child had brought to her life, and she wavered. She had to do it. If she changed her mind and another tiny laugh joined Ivanka's, it wouldn't last long. Their budget was stretched to its limits and rent was due and if it's another girl…. She fought another wave of terrified nausea and tightened her hand on the rail till her already-white knuckles turned blue. What would her mother think of her if she knew? Her husband?
What would the busker think?
This question, of course, brought the strongest wrench of all. Her legs began to tremble, as she had been standing in a very particular way to keep from slipping until she had control on the situation. Why did his opinion of her matter so much? He didn't even have to find out, if all went well. And yet she could still foresee that, between herself and the busker, there could be no secrets no matter how hard they tried to keep them.
Her husband's voice, clear and strong, travelled down the inner stairs and reached her. She turned away from the sound, because she knew why the busker's opinions meant so very much to her, and her husband's so little. It wasn't that she couldn't be with him.
It was that she could be with him. She could call him from his father's shop and wait for him to once again ask to join him in London, and she could accept. She could pack up herself and Ivanka and get on a plane with the rainy-day money she had been saving. She could find a place for herself and her mother to live. She could get a record-deal with those people the busker kept talking about. They could tour all over the world. She could make enough money to legally end her marriage. She could love the busker.
But something told her that she would never do those things. She was too scared. She could only wish for things to change. Just like she wouldn't force a miscarriage. She heard footsteps, and she—
"Mami!" cried Ivanka. The little girl was running full-tilt down the inner stairs, unaware that she could fall on the ice and get hurt. She spun around to warn Ivanka and her mother, and felt that horrible, lurching, spinning, slipping, falling, heard Ivanka scream and felt inexplicable pain.
She got her wish.