After My Miscarriage, I Left My Husband

I'd just returned from a surgical abortion, dragging my fragile body through the front door. The living room was dark, with only a faint glow slipping from the study. Just as I was about to walk over, the study door suddenly swung open. Mark Young and his secretary Ruby Scott came out one after the other. I instinctively stood in the stairway to block them, but before I could speak, Mark impatiently shoved me aside. I was already drained from the surgical abortion, and with his shove, I tumbled down the stairs. My knee slammed against the step, pain blurring my vision. What scared me even more was the warm liquid trickling down my leg. I struggled to get up, but Mark just frowned and shot me a cold glance. "Seeing blood at night is really bad luck; we're definitely going to lose at cards later." After he finished speaking, he grabbed Ruby Scott's hand and hurried past me without looking back. I lay on the floor, watching their backs disappear through the doorway. The study was a mess. Papers were strewn all over the desk, and hanging from the desk lamp's shade was a black stocking — Ruby Scott's. My phone in my pocket kept buzzing; it was my childhood friend, Hugo Jones, calling. I took a deep breath and pressed the answer button. "Hugo, don't wait up. I'll come find you in three days." I hung up and was about to push myself up on the stair railing when the bedroom door suddenly swung open. Mark Young didn't say when he came back. "Where are you going?" He stood at the bedroom door, a hint of impatience in his tone. My chest tightened; he must have heard the call earlier. I was still trying to figure out what to say when Mark spoke again. "Next time you have your period, don't show up in front of me." "Tonight's poker game was canceled because of you." So he wasn't really asking where I was going—he was just complaining that I'd messed up his plans. My lower belly had hurt continuously after the surgical abortion, and after I fell just now, the pain hit even harder. Pain bent me over, my hands pressing tightly against my lower abdomen. Mark Young acted like he didn't notice at all and suddenly called my name. "Stacy Scott, didn't I ask you to change the scented sachets in the wardrobe yesterday?" "Ruby Scott said the smell on my clothes was unbearable." I bit my lip, too weak to argue with him. He poked his head out from the walk-in closet, saw me doubled over, but didn't ask a word. I couldn't hold on any longer, lifted my head to him, voice trembling with a plea. "Mark, please, take me to the hospital." He looked down at his phone, his fingers flying over the keys as he casually typed a reply. "It's just menstrual cramps, isn't it? It's not the first time—no need to go to the hospital." "I've already changed into my pajamas. If the pain's really bad, just take some painkillers yourself." I looked at his cold face, feeling the last flicker of hope inside me die out. I knew there was no chance he'd take me to the hospital. Leaning against the wall, I slowly stood up and shuffled back to the bedroom to change, one shaky step at a time.