“You’re going to eat. That’s what’s happening.” He picks up the bowl and spoons up some oatmeal. He brings it to my mouth. “Open.”
I do.
“Swallow,” he says when he pulls the spoon out.
Again, I do.
We don’t speak until I’ve eaten the whole bowl and drank the juice out of the little straw he holds to my mouth.
“Why am I tied to the bed?”
“Where did you get the pills?”
“I…I didn’t mean…I changed my mind.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Did you?”
Did I?
“You changed your mind about dying? Well, lucky for you, you vomited most of the aspirin, or it may not have been up to you.” He sounds angry. “Do you know what happens with aspirin poisoning?”
I turn my face to wipe it on the shoulder of the hospital gown. “Please untie me.”
“Answer my question. Do you know?”
I do. Even if you change your mind, it may be too late for your kidneys. I nod.
“Where did you get the pills?”
“Mercedes left them.”
The hand I can see fists and warring emotions darken his features. “I see.”
“Please untie me.”
He shifts his gaze down to one wrist, and without comment, he undoes the buckle. He then moves to do the same on the other bind.
I watch his dark head as I rub my wrists. “Isn’t it what you want?”
He looks at me. “What?”
“Me dead.” I feel sick to say it. Feel myself start to tremble with a sudden cold.
He stands, runs a hand through his hair, and shakes his head like he’s having some private conversation in his head. He then looks at me again. “You’re pregnant, Ivy.”
“What?”
“You could have hurt the baby.”
“But…” I shake my head, try to remember my last period. Days and weeks all meld together, time lost in my prison where it’s always night. “I can’t be.”
“You are. And you’ll have a guard 24/7 once you’re home. You will not harm my child again.”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to—”
“You will eat, you will get fresh air, you will exercise. Your body will be a healthy host for my child.”
“A host?” I shake my head, hating the hurt inside my chest. “That’s all I am?”
His eyes narrow. “You’ve proven untrustworthy too many times to be anything else.”
“How far?”
“Four weeks. Five.”
“It’s not possible.”
He leans down to take my chin in his hand and force my head up. “It is reality. My child grows inside your belly. You will not hurt him again.”
Does he think I really wanted to hurt a baby? I tug free of his grip. “Get out.” My voice breaks.
“You will never be alone again. Isn’t that what you’ve been whining about?”
“Get out.” I can’t look at him as my hand moves over my belly, my throat tight, vision blurry with tears. I’m pregnant. I am pregnant.
“Marco will bring you home once you’re released later today.”
I look at him now. “Your house is not my home. It will never be my home.”
His jaw tightens, and he stares at me for a long minute before he relaxes it. “Do you think that matters to me, Ivy?” he asks, head tilted. “Do you think I care even a little bit whether or not you feel at home in my house?”
“The other night, you…What happened to us?”
“Us? What us are you referring to?”
“You’re not human. Do you know that?”
His eyes narrow, and I watch his Adam’s apple work as he swallows. “I know what I am, dear wife.” He leans toward me, and I find myself leaning the back of my head into the bed. “I know perfectly well. And more importantly, I know what you are.”
34 Santiago
"How is your wife?" Judge greets me in the entryway.
"She's...alive." I swallow and glance over his shoulder, beyond the vast space of his foyer.
The familiar notes of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” are a distant murmur in another part of the house, and it brings me back to another time and place.
"She will come home soon, I hope?" He gestures for me to follow him into the sitting room.
Home.
That word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Ivy said my house would never be her home, and I know she's right. Too much has happened. We are living like strangers beneath one roof. A practice that is not uncommon in arranged marriages within The Society. But ours feels wrong. Tainted. And there is no fixing it.
"I believe I made a mistake." The confession spills from my lips freely as I collapse onto the sofa and close my eyes. I'm too exhausted to keep the truth inside.
"How so?" Judge asks.
I blink up at the ceiling. The music changes to a faster, angrier tune.
"I never should have married her."
The words settle over us, dark and heavy, much like the current atmosphere of my life.
"But you did," Judge responds, unmoved by my admission. "Why regret it now?"
I drag a hand over my eyes, attempting to revive myself. But how can I? All I see is Ivy, lying lifeless on the floor. I can't erase that image from my mind. I can't deny I'm responsible for her actions. And logical or not, I can't forgive her for the constant throbbing ache in my chest.
What is this pain? This feeling of suffocation I get when I think of how desperate she was to escape me. I don't recognize it. I don't know how to navigate it or how to make it stop. I've tried, but it won't go away.
She's having my child. Everything is as it should be. But she hates me so much that she would rather kill herself than continue in this life with me. I can't say I should have ever expected anything else. There was never any possibility of changing the rules of the game halfway through.
"This plan was never going to work," I tell Judge. "It was foolish."
The housekeeper appears, asking if
