Chapter 27

Jennie

The cramping sensation I began to feel a few seconds ago suddenly intensifies, turns into a sharp pain. It lances across my stomach, stealing my breath just as Lisa steps toward me, her face tight with worry. Gasping, I double over, and instantly I feel her strong hands on me, lifting me off my feet.

"Hospital, now!" she barks at Bambam, and before I can blink, I find myself inside the car, cradled on Lisa's lap as we screech out of the alley.

"Jennie? Jennie, are you all right?" Rosé's voice is filled with panic, but I can't reassure her at the moment, not with my insides cramping and twisting. All I can do is take short, gasping breaths, my hands digging convulsively into Lisa's shoulders as she rocks me back and forth, her body tense underneath me.

"Lisa." I can't help crying out as a particularly vicious cramp rips through my belly. I can feel a hot, slippery wetness on my thighs, and I know if I look down, I'll see blood. "Lisa, the child . . ."

"I know, baby." She presses her lips to my forehead, rocking me faster. "Hang on. Please, hang on."

We fly through the dark streets, the streetlights and traffic lights blurring in front of my eyes. I can hear Rosé talking to me, her soft hands smoothing over my hair, and I'm aware of a vague sense of guilt that she has to deal with this after everything she's been through.

Mostly, though, what I feel is fear.

A hideous fear that it's too late, that nothing will ever be all right again.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Manoban." The young doctor stops next to my bed, her hazel eyes filled with sympathy. "As you might've guessed, you miscarried. The good news—if there can be any at a time like this—is that you were still in your first trimester, and the bleeding has already stopped. There might be some spotting and discharge for the next few days, but your body should return to normal fairly quickly. There's no reason why you wouldn't be able to try for another child soon . . . if you wish to do so, of course."

I stare at her, my eyes feeling like they've been scraped with sandpaper. I can't cry anymore. I've cried all the tears within me. I'm aware of Lisa's hand holding mine as she sits on the edge of the bed, of the continued dull cramping in my belly, and all I can think is that I lost the baby.

I lost our baby, and it's all my fault.

"Where's Rosé?" My throat is so swollen I have to force the words out. "Is she all right?"

"She's in the room next to you," the doctor says softly. She's unusually pretty, with a pale, heart-shaped face framed by wavy chestnut hair. "Would you like to speak to her?"

"Are they done with her examination?" Lisa's voice is as hard as I've ever heard it. Her face and hands are clean now—she used bottled water to wipe most of the blood off us before we got out of the car–but her gray jacket is stained brown. I wonder what the doctors think of our appearance, whether they realize that not all of the blood on us is mine.

"Yes, they're done." The doctor hesitates for a second. "Ms. Manoban, your friend said she doesn't want to press charges or speak to the police, but that's something we strongly recommend in cases like these. At the very least, she should let our sexual assault nurse examiner collect the evidence. Perhaps you can talk to Ms. Park, help us convince her—"

"Do any of her injuries require hospitalization?" Lisa interrupts, her hand tightening around my fingers. "Or can she go home with us?"

The doctor frowns. "She can go home, but—"

"And my wife?" She gives the young woman a piercing look. "You're certain there are no injuries beyond the bruises?"

"Yes, as I explained to you earlier, Ms. Manoban, all the tests came back normal." The doctor meets her gaze without flinching. "There's no concussion or any kind of internal injuries, and there's no need for a D —dilation and curettage—procedure when the loss happens so early in the pregnancy. I recommend that Mrs. Manoban take it easy for the next few days, but after that she can return to her normal activities."

Lisa glances down at me. "Baby?" Her tone softens a fraction. "Do you want to stay here until morning just in case, or would you rather go home?"

"Home." I swallow painfully. "I want to go home."

"Mrs. Manoban . . ." The doctor places her hand on my forearm, her slender fingers warm on my skin. When I look up at her, she says gently, "I know it's little consolation for your loss, but I want you to know that the vast majority of miscarriages cannot be prevented. It's possible that the incident with you and your friend was a factor in this unfortunate event, but it's just as likely that there was some kind of chromosomal abnormality that would've caused this to happen regardless. Statistically speaking, some twenty percent of known pregnancies end in miscarriage, and up to seventy percent of first-trimester miscarriages occur because of those abnormalities—not something the mother did or didn't do."

I take in her words dully, my gaze slipping from her face to the name tag pinned to her chest. Dr. Cobakis. Something about that seems familiar, but I'm too tired to figure out what.

Listlessly, I look up again. "Thank you," I murmur, hoping she leaves the topic alone. I understand what she's trying to do. The doctor's probably run into this before—a woman's automatic tendency to blame herself when something goes wrong with her pregnancy. What she doesn't realize is that in my case, I am to blame.

I insisted on going to that club. What happened to Rosé and the baby is my fault and no one else's.

The doctor gives my forearm a gentle squeeze and steps back. "I'll get your friend ready for discharge while you get dressed," she says, and walks out of the room, leaving me alone with Lisa for the first time since our arrival at the hospital.

As soon as the doctor is gone, she releases my hand and leans over me. "Jennie . . ." In her gaze, I see the same agony that's tearing me up inside. "Baby, are you still in pain?"

I shake my head. The physical discomfort is nothing to me now. "I want to go home," I say hoarsely. "Please, Lisa, just take me home."

"I will." She strokes the uninjured side of my face, her touch warm and gentle. "I promise you, I will."