Page 118 of Trapped With You

Scared, my five-year-old brother fell beside me, all traces ofsleep evading him. “Ella?”

“I-I’m okay,manito. Please go back to bed and don’t tell anyone you saw me.”

His eyes wide with fear, he rested a small hand against my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

I brushed my fingers tenderly through his hair. “Nothing, Emi. You shouldn’t be awake right now. Go back to sleep.” I smiled to the best of my ability. “I’m okay.”

Maybe if I kept repeating it, I’d eventually believe it.

My pain seeped into him and Emilio started crying too, despite not knowing what was happening. He wrapped his small arms around my frame and hugged me tight, squeezing with all the might in his little body. As if he was trying to glue my insides, which were falling apart by the seams, back together.

In a way, it was working.

Years from now, the only comfort I would recall from this moment was my little brother’s hug. Siblings really were the greatest treasure from above. Friends and lovers may come and go, but these relationships were forever. They’d stand the test of time.

“P-Please, Ella.” He sniffled, hiding his face in my throat. “What’s wrong?”

I pressed my cheek to his soft curls and placed his hand on my stomach. “I lost my baby.”

“No.” He shook his head determinedly, blinking big wet brown eyes at me. “I’m still here.”

“Emi.” I cried even harder at his gentle innocence. Emilio didn’t understand, and I didn’t expect him to. He thought I meant him because he was the baby of the family. “I know. I know you’ll always be here.”

I crushed him to my chest and he said nothing more, comforting me by brushing kisses against my cheek and patting my face with affection.

“I’ll be okay, Emi. Please don’t cry anymore.”

“Y-You stop crying first,” he sobbed into my chest.

I sighed at how cute and desolate that sounded at the same time. Rocking us slowly, I hummed his favourite lullaby, hoping to put him to sleep.

While silently cursing Cade to hell.

When Emilio fell asleep, I put him to bed and cleaned myself up. Without anyone’s knowledge, I drove to the hospital with a towel under my seat. This was a battle I needed to brave on my own. Residual aches still pulsing through my middle, I listened to the ER doctor telling me with sympathy that miscarriages so early in the pregnancy weren’t uncommon. I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a single sound. Stony-faced, I digested the truth of my situation—sometimes these things happened and there was no concrete reason. There was nothing I could have done to prevent losing my baby.

After giving me instructions on how to care for myself—pads for bleeding, painkillers for pain, plenty of rest, and lots of proper nutrition—she squeezed my shoulder, probably taking pity on a teenager who arrived in the middle of the night looking haggard.

The drive back home in the wee hours was a blur. When I changed into pyjamas and crawled into my bed, wide awake and staring at my ceiling, still processing my loss, I knew in the deepest recesses of my soul that I’d never forgive Cade.

Even if he begged, grovelled, and offered excuses.

He humiliated me and made a mockery of my love.

Forgiving him came with a heavy price. My pride. And that was one currency I never bartered with.

If he tried to call or text me, I wouldn’t know until I got a replacement phone. And even if he tried contacting me, I’d ignore him until he got it through his thick skull that we were done.

That’s if he cares to apologize. He’s probably having sex with that girl, Ella, while you’re forgotten, alone, and no longer pregnant. Maybe he’s already over you. Maybe he’s been over you. Maybe he never loved you and it was all a lie. He played you. He played you so masterfully, it’s hilarious. You’re pathetic, crying and pining over him. You were never important. Every nickname was a joke. You are a joke. One he’s laughing at right now…

I clutched the roots of my hair and screwed my eyes shut, trying to block out all these thoughts. A choked sob burst past my lips and I clamped a hand over my mouth, refusing to cry past this point, refusing to replay the moment where I caught him with her, refusing to feel anything but hatred for him moving forward.

It was an hour before I was able to pull myself together.

The lull of sleep slowly drew my body into a quiet—far from peaceful—sleep with thoughts of Cade still ricocheting in my mind.

I wanted to marry you, Cade.

I wanted to have our baby and start a family with you, Cade.