Love and Hate Are Gone - Chapter 2

Barely a half–hour later, the drugs started working. I was writhing on the bed, sweating and in agonizing pain. Greg had barely hung up with the doctor before he appeared, obviously having been waiting outside.

Even though I’d gone through it seven times, losing another baby made my heart break all over again.

Through the pain, I heard the doctor say, “Mr. Greg, she’s bleeding more than usual this time. I’m afraid she may be completely infertile.”

Greg didn’t say a word. He just wrapped his arms around me, his eyes red. “Kate, don’t worry. Even if we can’t have kids, I’ll still love you, and I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.”

This big–shot CEO, who’d never had to lift a finger, was cleaning up the blood, and when we went to bed, he held me close, afraid I was too cold after the miscarriage.

Later, in the middle of the night, Greg murmured in his sleep, “Ashley, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re happy.”

The tears that had been building finally burst. At the wedding, he’d promised me happiness, but that was just to keep me from getting in Ashley’s way.

I suddenly realized my marriage had been a complete joke.

I sent a text to my best friend, Sarah, who was living overseas. “Remember when you wanted me to travel the world with you? I’ve decided be in France to see you in a couple days.”

I put down my phone, still feeling the aftershocks of pain in my belly. The thought of losing another child, a child killed by his own father, was unbearable. I locked myself in the bathroom, looking back over all my time with Greg while tears flowed.

I bent to pick up my phone when I noticed something hidden under the sink. It was wrapped in layers of expensive silk, like it was precious cargo. It was a photo album.

An album full of photos of Ashley from the age of 15 to 28. I’d seen the album’s cover in Greg’s office before. Greg always had a thing for photography.

While Greg was Mark’s uncle, he was only a few years older than us. When we were kids, he’d just watch Mark and I goof around, like he was too cool to join our games.

Then, when Ashley started hanging out with us, Greg seemed to become more involved, picking up photography around the same time.

I’d assumed he’d just grown up. But really, he’d just found someone he liked. Most of the pictures in the album were ones I’d never seen before. They were shots of Ashley at moments only he would have noticed.

Each smile, each tiny frown, even the way she brushed her hair, was captured through Greg’s lens. After our marriage, Greg had stopped touching his camera.

Once, I’d wanted him to take my picture while I was pregnant, but he said he’d lost it and then hooked me up with a famous photographer.

He hadn’t lost it. He just didn’t use his lens on anyone but the woman he loved. My eyes burned, unable to shed another tear. I quietly put the album back.

I bought a plane ticket and drafted a divorce agreement on my phone. If he loved Ashley so much, I’d set him free. The next morning, my eyes were so swollen, I looked like a cartoon character.

Greg was all concern, making me a fancy breakfast and peeling a boiled egg to put on my eyes for the swelling. His sweet, considerate manner made me almost question if last night had been a dream.

But my empty stomach told me that it was real. Seeing that I wasn’t eating, he sighed, “Kate, we lost our baby. I know you’re hurting, and I’m hurting too. But you need to take care of yourself. You’ve had so many miscarriages, your body’s weak. Please eat something, so I don’t worry.”