The Fallout [POV: Abigail]
The morning light crept through the sheer curtains, casting a soft golden hue over my bedroom. It was warm, gentle—deceptive. A lie of peace when my mind was anything but.
I blinked, my body heavy, sore, spent from the night before. It took me a second to remember why I felt this way—why my skin still tingled, why my sheets smelled different.
And then, I felt it.
A weight against my waist. A slow, steady breath at my back.
Vincent.
His arm was draped over me, his body pressed close, his warmth seeping into my skin. I could feel the way his chest rose and fell, how relaxed he was, how deeply he slept—like a man who had found something he thought he had lost.
For a moment, I didn’t move.
I just laid there, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what I had done.
Of what we had done.
I turned slightly, careful not to wake him, and let my gaze drift over his features. The sharp angles of his face had softened in sleep. His dark lashes fanned over his cheekbones, his lips slightly parted, his breathing slow and steady.
My fingers hovered over his face, as if drawn by something I didn’t understand. I traced the air above his nose, the curve of his lips, memorizing him the way I used to.
God, I had missed him.
I had spent months convincing myself that I had moved on. That Vincent Austin was my past. That I had built something new, something better.
But the truth was—I still knew every inch of him.
And last night, I had let him back in.
A sharp ring pierced the silence, jolting me out of my thoughts.
I gasped, yanking my hand back as if burned. Vincent stirred, but his hold on me didn’t loosen.
I reached blindly for my phone on the nightstand, my heart pounding as I checked the screen.
Evie.
Shit.
I swallowed hard, slipping carefully out from under Vincent’s arm. He shifted, murmuring something under his breath, but didn’t wake.
I grabbed my robe from the chair in the corner, wrapping it around me as I stepped out of the bedroom, pressing the phone to my ear.
“Hey,” I said quickly, my voice still hushed. “Everything okay?”
Evie sighed on the other end. “Where the hell are you? You didn’t go to work yesterday and you were supposed to be in your clinic two hours ago.”
I winced, running a hand through my tangled hair. “I—I’m not feeling well. I decided to take the day off.”
Silence.
Then—
“You’re with him, aren’t you?”
I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly. Evie always knew. I didn’t answer.
She let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “I swear to God, Abigail—”
“Evie, please, not right now,” I cut in, pinching the bridge of my nose. My head was already pounding, my emotions a mess. I didn’t need the judgment, even if I deserved it.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But you need to hear this.”
Something in her tone shifted. It wasn’t playful anymore. It wasn’t teasing. It was serious.
I straightened. “What is it?”
There was a long pause. Then—
“Hannah’s in the hospital.”
I froze. My fingers tightened around the phone, my heart suddenly racing.
“What?”
Evie sighed, the weight of the news heavy in her voice. “She attempted suicide yesterday. Her landlord found her, got her to the ER in time, but…” She trailed off.
But what?
I felt something icy crawl up my spine, a suffocating sense of dread wrapping around my chest.
“Evie,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just tell me.”
Another pause. Then—
“She had a miscarriage.”
Everything stopped.
The air vanished from my lungs. My stomach dropped. I reached for the kitchen counter, gripping the edge, my fingers turning white.
Miscarriage.
The baby that Vincent had once believed was his. The baby that had taken everything from me, from us.
Gone.
Just like that.
I pressed a hand to my forehead, my mind spinning. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah,” Evie muttered. “I thought you’d want to know.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, but I wasn’t sure if I was breathing at all. “How is she?”
“Physically? She’s stable. But mentally?” Evie sighed. “She’s a wreck, Aby. She lost the baby, and she’s alone. She has no one.”
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. She has no one.
Despite everything she had done to me, despite how much I had hated her for months, the thought of Hannah—alone, grieving, broken—sent a strange, unexpected ache through me.
Because I knew that pain. Because I had once been her.
I licked my lips, my mind still struggling to catch up. “Does Vincent know?”
“I don’t think so. But he will.”
I let out a shaky breath, my eyes flickering toward the bedroom. Toward the man still sleeping, unaware that everything had just changed.
“Aby,” Evie said softly. “What are you going to do?”
