The Unread Scan That Ended Us

Chapter 4

At 2 p.m., I walked into the OB-GYN procedure room alone. The doctor checked with me again. "Are you sure you want to go ahead with the procedure today? Would you like to talk it over with your family first?"

"I'm sure."

I lay on the cold table. The surgical lights overhead were too bright to look at. "I can't keep this baby. And I don't want to anymore."

The anesthetic went into my vein, ice cold. As everything blurred, I remembered the year we graduated from college. Vincent had searched the whole city in a snowstorm for a handmade ring I'd mentioned once, so he could propose. He'd knelt in the snow, his fingers red with cold, and sworn, "I'm yours, Meredith. My whole life."

But just after he'd hung up on me today, I'd scrolled back through Bridget's posts from five years ago and found that she'd gotten engaged abroad that very night. She'd posted at 8 p.m. Vincent had commented beneath it.

Vincent: [I'll find someone who does what I say, someone a hundred times more obedient than you.]

Everything finally made sense. The snowy night and the promise that had moved me to tears had only been his way of getting back at Bridget. No wonder he couldn't stay away once she came home.

*****

The procedure went smoothly. When I woke from the anesthesia, there was only a dull, hollow ache in my lower abdomen. The nurse handed me the paperwork. "Drink plenty of fluids and make sure someone stays with you. You still need time to recover after an abortion."

I thanked her and folded the papers neatly. I waved off the nurse's offer to call someone, and when I left the hospital, the sky was dark and overcast. I took a cab back to the house Vincent and I had shared for five years.

It was a large place, with four bedrooms and two living rooms. I'd chosen every piece of furniture with care. His-and-hers slippers sat by the entryway. The list of trips we'd promised each other was still stuck to the fridge on a magnetic notepad. Now it all felt like a cruel joke.

I laid three documents flat in the very center of the coffee table. The first was the procedure record. The second was my pathology report, with the malignant tumor finding marked in red. The third was a marital settlement agreement bearing my signature.

My porcelain cup stood beside them. The half cup of water Bridget had left was cold. A faint lipstick mark remained on the rim.

Packing took only 20 minutes. All my documents and everyday clothes fit into a 24-inch suitcase. Its wheels rolled across the marble floor. I shut the front door and didn't look back.