Page 20 of Frankie and the Fed

The policewoman waves her hands in surrender and leaves. I know she’ll be back soon, but right now, I want to understand from the doctor what’s going on.

“I want to go home,” I say. “When can I go home?” After I ask, I realize I don’t have a home to go to. Where will I go? I swallow the lump that accumulates in my throat.

“Let’s have a conversation first, and then we’ll see, okay?” he says to me so calmly that it irritates me.

I stare through his glasses into his brown eyes. Everyone wants to ask questions at the same time. But I don’t want to answer. They should let me go. I want to be alone. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to talk to anyone.

“Do you remember what happened to you?” the doctor asks.

“Michael happened to me.”

He nods. “Michael was your husband, wasn’t he?”

I nod, even though in my eyes, he was my torturer, not my husband. How strange to talk about him in the past tense. Can I not be afraid of him anymore?

“Can I check on you?”

I nod again, and the doctor closes the curtain to give me privacy. “Mom, stay with me.” I reach out, and she holds my hand for support.

He approaches my face and checks my nose and my vision, holding a flashlight close to my pupils. I blink in pain.

“We fixed your nose. You’ll be just as beautiful as before.” He gives me a pitying smile and moves on to check the bandage on my ribs, touching me gently. “You have two broken ribs. It will hurt for a while, but lucky for you, there was no internal damage from the injury.”

I bite my lip in pain. I don’t think there’s a spot on my body that doesn’t hurt right now. He lifts the hospital gown and peeks between my legs. I close my eyes.

He straightens. “You’re recovering well. We sewed up the tears, but I’m sorry to tell you, you lost the baby. The trauma to the uterus was too great. You suffered from placental abruption.”

I gasp and turn my head to mom. She looks down and covers her face with her hands.

“Baby?”

“You didn’t know?” he asks. “You were pregnant, the first trimester. I’m sorry, but you lost it. The bleeding was too extensive.”

Baby? A pregnancy? Oh my God, I was pregnant? “How far along?” I ask in a shaky voice.

“I estimate around week eight,” he says.

“Ethan. It was Ethan’s…” I mutter. Probably from that evening when I returned to him, and we weren’t careful. The morning-after pill must not have worked... But I lost his baby. Tears accumulate in my eyes. He died, and I lost the only thing I had left of him.

“No!” I scream and shake my arms. “No…”

I can’t stand it. I have nothing left.

I cry until I fall back into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When I wake up again and realize where I am, I close my eyes. I don’t have the strength to face reality. I lost Ethan’s baby. My mother strokes my fingers. I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want anything. Please, just let me die.

The detectives are back, entering the room again, and my father blocks them with his body.

I raise a hand to stop him. “It’s okay, Dad. I can answer their questions.” Let’s get this over with already. Nothing matters anymore. There’s no point in putting it off. After I’m released, I’ll finish everything.

Dad gives me a long and scrutinizing stare. He’s trying to decide if I’m able to speak without falling apart, no doubt. I’m not sure myself, but more than anything, I want to understand what happened that day.

Finally, he nods, takes my mother’s hand, and they leave the room, closing the door behind them.

I try to pull myself into a sitting position and groan. My entire body feels like a pile of bones that happened to be put together.