"You're not ugly. Or broken."
Her eyes find mine, but there's no agreement in them and she continues without acknowledging my comment. "He asked for my phone number when I had to leave to catch my train." She shrugs. "And I gave it to him. He was handsome. And he was interesting. And he had on a nice suit. And he was charming. And I didn't think he'd actually call. No one had ever asked for my number before. I was sure he'd throw it in the trash on his way out the door."
She stops there, so I prompt her to continue. "But he did call?"
She nods and exhales a long, slow breath. "He did. He called a month later. He lived in Florida and traveled to New York for a few days every month for his business. He took me out to dinner that night." A faint smile crosses her lips, but instead of joyful, it looks disgusted. "I remember how nervous and happy I was."
"Did you sleep with him that night?" I don't know why I just asked that, but the thought of fucking Michael taking her virginity from her makes me sick.
She shakes her head. "We didn't have sex until his third visit. He took me to his hotel. Over the next few months his visits were a combination of dinner and sex. After that it was just sex."
"But, you loved him?"
When she nods this time, her expression darkens. "I did. And I was fool enough to think he loved me, too. He talked about us being together and getting married someday." She looks at me and the look on her face is heartbreaking. Fucking Michael played her for years. "He talked about it all the time, Gus. I was so fucking stupid that I believed him."
"You're not stupid, Impatient. You trusted him. He's a fucking bastard." Hearing her belittle herself because of this prick makes me want to throttle him.
She shakes her head and stares straight ahead out the window on the other side of the room. It's a blank stare. "And then I got pregnant." Her voice has lost all of the anger; the only thing pouring in now is sadness.
What? I try to let the shock pass quickly and I keep my mouth shut.
She's quiet, just staring out the window lost in it all, until her face drops and tears pool in her eyes. "It happened on New Year's Eve. I found out mid-February." She sniffs trying to hold back the tears, but they break free and start rolling silently down her cheeks.
I want to hug her but I'm scared she'll quit talking, so I take her hand in mine and squeeze so she knows I'm with her. That she's not alone.
When she starts talking again the emotions drain away, even though the tears are flowing. It's the face of shock and devastation, the kind of devastation that leaves you hollow. "I called him to tell him the news, because even though I was scared, I was happy, too." She shrugs. "I never thought I'd have kids. That anyone would want to have kids with me. So, to me the accidental pregnancy was miraculous. A gift." She pauses and sniffs again. "He didn't feel the same way. That's when he told me he was married. And my world fell apart." She wipes the tears from her face with her free hand. Defeat is creeping back in on her. Like she's living it all over again and it's so painful she's shutting down. She shakes her head. "I didn't know .... All that time ... I didn't know." It's like she's pleading with me to believe her.
I nod to let her know I believe her.
"I think every bad feeling known to man hit me during that conversation. I felt sad. I felt betrayed. I felt angry. So angry. I felt like an idiot. And I felt I deserved every single one of those emotions, because most of all, I felt guilty. So fucking guilty. Because I'd been with someone's husband for two years and I had no idea. The guilt was unbearable. Marriage, relationships, should be honored ... and I'd been having sex with a married man. I felt dirty and used, but I also felt like it was my fault. Like I should've somehow known. I ran back through all of the conversations we'd had, and every time we'd met, looking for clues. And I didn't find any. The days that followed were lonely. I had no one to talk to about it."
"What about your aunt? Couldn't you talk to her?"
She shakes her head. "Not that I would've wanted to put my problems on her anyway, but February was brutal for my aunt. My whole family. Jane tried to commit suicide in early February. She was held under psychiatric evaluation for a couple of weeks after that." She loves and worries about her aunt, you can hear it in her voice.
Huh, that's why Hitler had to leave the tour. I feel bad for the dude now.
She continues. "Anyway, after a few days of drowning in the guilt, I realized that I was better off without him. I could raise a child on my own. I'd love the baby enough for both of us ... I already did." Her voice brightens when she mentions the baby and my stomach drops because I don't know how I know, but I know she lost the baby. She's staring at me now and the smile she's wearing is slowly torn apart by agony until it's nothing but grief. Her voice is only a whisper through the tears she's fighting. "I loved that baby so much. I would've been a good mom, Gustov."
I swallow back the lump in my throat before I agree. "You would've been a good mom." She would've been. She's one of the most focused, responsible, intensely passionate people I've ever met.
She attempts a smile at my confirmation, but rests her head on my shoulder instead. It's heavy, like her heart. She's letting herself lean on me now. "I miscarried on March twenty-ninth. That's the day I discovered what loss really felt like. Losing Michael was nothing compared to losing the baby. You know that saying, 'everything happens for a reason'?"