Page 7 of Cryptic Curse (Bellamy Brothers #7)

DANIELA

I hate hospitals.

I don’t think they’re anyone’s favorite place, but I truly hate them.

A hospital took from me the one thing I truly wanted when I was fifteen years old. It was the first time…but not the last.

* * *

Three Years Earlier…

“You’re a fucking slut like the rest of them,” my father berates me.

“Please…” I beg.

He scowls. “Didn’t he use a condom?”

I sit on the edge of my bed, the sonogram picture tucked beneath my pillow like a secret I’m not allowed to keep. It’s grainy and hard to read if you don’t know what you’re looking at—but I do. I know exactly what it is. That tiny curve of light, that flicker they said was a heartbeat.

My baby.

I press my hand against my stomach. It’s flat, of course, but I feel like I’ve already started to change. My boobs hurt and I have to pee a lot. I didn’t plan this. I didn’t plan any of this. But now that it’s real, I can’t imagine letting it go.

But my dad…

He didn’t even look at the picture. Just said, “You’re getting it taken care of,” like I was a puppy that made a mess on the carpet. No discussion. Like my body doesn’t even belong to me anymore.

But of course it doesn’t. It’s my father’s. He uses it as he sees fit.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he said.

No. I won’t.

I’m not stupid. I know how hard this will be. But when I think about ending this life inside me, it feels like something in me will die, too.

He says I’m too young to know what I want. But what if I’m just young enough to still believe in something? What if I’m the only one who sees this not as a problem but as a person?

I close my eyes and picture her. Or him. I know I already love this baby in a way that makes my chest ache.

If my father makes me do this, if I go through with it just to keep the peace, just to obey—he’ll get his clean, quiet life back.

But I’ll never be whole again.

I grab his hands. “Please, don’t make me. I want the baby. I want something to love. Something that will love me.”

He whips away from my grasp, leering at me coldly. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“Please, let me keep my baby, Papa. Please.”

“No.”

In a flash my father is holding a pistol, and he puts the nose against my head.

My heart races as fear courses through me. This can’t be good for the baby. He wouldn’t end my life. Would he?

Then again, he does heinous things every day.

“Papa, please.”

“Choose, Daniela. You or the baby.”

“Papa…” I sob.

“We’re going to the hospital. Everything is prearranged. You will have the procedure.”

“No!”

But he pushes the gun against my hair. “Fine. Like I said. Choose. Either I end your life, or you end the baby’s.”

I gulp back my sobs. “If you kill me, the baby will die too.”

“Exactly,” he says. “Either way, I get what I fucking want.”

* * *

Present Day…

“How long do we have to stay?” Belinda asks me in a small voice.

She was so happy when we left. She’d just finished playing, which makes her the happiest, and then I told her that Vinnie was taking us out to dinner and she could get that ice cream she loves.

But now, as we stand outside of Raven’s father’s hospital room, she looks anything but happy.

“You all right?” I ask.

“I don’t like this place,” she says.

“I don’t like hospitals much either,” I say.

“How come?” she asks.

I can’t burden Belinda with my past, not when she has her own to overcome.

“The smell,” I say. “Why don’t you like hospitals?”

She looks down at the tiled floor. “The last time I was at this hospital, he brought me. To see Vinnie’s mother.”

She’s talking about her father. She never refers to him by name.

I can’t blame her. After what he did to his own daughter, he’s lost all claim to parenthood, even in death.

“Oh, sweetie.” I grab her hand. “Come on. We’ll get you something out of the vending machine, okay?”

She looks around. “Where did Vinnie go?”

“When Raven went in, he said he had to make some phone calls. I don’t know where he went, but he’ll be back. Come on.”

I lead Belinda to the end of the hallway where the couches and vending machines are. The floor-to-ceiling windows look out on the city of Austin. Cars driving and honking, people walking on the sidewalks. A Starbucks sits on the corner.

I could go for some coffee, but there isn’t any in the vending machine. I decide on a Diet Coke. “What would you like?”

“Just water,” she says. “Maybe some chips.”

I slide my credit card through the machines and get our food and drink, nodding to her. “Come on, honey. Let’s sit.”

We sit together on the couch, and Belinda opens her bag of chips. We don’t talk, and the only sound in the area is her crunching.

I take a sip of my Diet Coke.

And I remember that terrible time in the hospital.

* * *

The doctor adjusts the sterile drape and looks up at me with a calm expression. “Okay, sweetheart,” he says gently. “I’m going to talk you through everything as we go. If anything feels uncomfortable or if you want me to stop at any point, just say the word. You’re in control here.”

I stare at the ceiling. “Am I?”

He pauses, his gaze meeting mine for a second longer than necessary. “You are supposed to be,” he says, his voice softer now.

I nod, though the movement feels mechanical. My hands are cold, fingers curled into fists under the thin blanket. I try not to shiver.

“You doing all right?” he asks as he wheels his stool closer. “You’re very quiet.”

“I’m just…” I swallow hard. “Trying not to think.”

“Do you want me to distract you?” He pauses a moment. “We can talk about something else if that helps.”

“No,” I murmur. “I don’t want to pretend it’s not happening.”

He nods once and turns his attention to the instruments. The machine clicks, and my whole body tenses.

“You’re going to feel some pressure now,” he says. “Breathe with me. In…and out.”

I follow his rhythm, forcing the air in and out of my lungs like it’s the only thing I can still control.

After a moment, I whisper, “She would’ve had my eyes. I think.”

He stills for a brief second but doesn’t interrupt or look away.

“My dad said I’d thank him one day,” I continue, my voice barely audible. “That I’d be grateful he made this decision for me.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.” I stare so hard at the ceiling that my vision begins to blur.

The machine hums in the background. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I can’t afford to fall apart—not here.

“I hope she knows I didn’t want this,” I say, my voice cracking.

The doctor’s hands never stop moving, but his voice is steady. “She knows.”

I close my eyes. And for a moment, I pretend I believe him.