I look, and see her whole family, all the adult siblings and her mother, are gathered in a semicircle behind us. I scan them, their expressions. Hard to read in the dusk, but the torches-and-pitchforks horror and disgust I expect aren’t there.
I have no idea what to say to any of them. I doubt folk like these have ever seen violence like that.
Myka takes my hand, holding it in one of hers and tangling her other hand into it. “Come on. Ice cream’s melting.”
“Myka, I…” I still have no idea what to say, what to do next. This is totally new.
“Rev, he hit me.” She pulls me into a walk, and I let her, somewhat reluctantly. “It’s over.”
We go inside, Myka snagging the ice cream on the way, and she leads me to the sectional in the den, waits for me to sit in the corner, and then settles right into my lap, leaning against my chest. My arms go around her, hold her tight and close.
Everyone else settles into various places. Waiting.
“Mikey-baby.” Her mom, tentative, hesitant. “Is it true? What you said?”
She buries her face in my chest, her voice muffled. “Which part?”
“About…” A deep breath from her mom, let out shakily. “About trying to kill yourself.”
Myka just nods against me.
“You never told me.” This is from Ana, who moves to sit next to us, touching Myka’s back; she sounds almost angry. “You nevertoldme. You tell me everything.”
Myka rolls a shoulder. “Not that. I was too embarrassed. I woke up the next morning totally fine, just a little hungover.”
“You told me…” I start, my voice rough. “You can’t. That’s what you said.”
She nods again, knowing what I’m referring to. “After…” A sigh. “I made it six and a half months. The last time.” Her voice is small and hurting. “A girl. Rosie. I had the nursery done. Pale pink walls, cream carpet. Crib, changing table. Everything.”
Ana chokes on a sob, beside us. Clearly, she remembers this just as clearly as Myka does.
“I started having contractions while Darren was at work. I’d had Braxton-Hicks contractions before.” She looks up at me. “Those are fake contractions—practice ones, they call them. They don’t get you ready for giving birth, they just…sort of teach you what’s coming. But these…these were different. Harder, sharper—deeper. I don’t know. I knew it was different. I called Darren and told him. He dismissed me. Told me if I was worried, go see a doctor.”
“Asshole,” Angus mutters.
“Gus!” A snapped reprimand from Faith. “Language.”
“Mom, I’m a grown man. And if anyone deserves to be called an asshole, it’s him.”
Faith glowers at him, but holds her tongue, otherwise. Clearly, she agrees, but feels she can’t, not verbally.
Myka ignores this. Continues relating the story. “I knew something was wrong. I knew it. I ignored it. Tried to tell myself it would go away.” A shudder. “It didn’t. I started bleeding.”
I just squeeze her. I don’t know about babies and such, but I know you’re not supposed to bleed, and not at six and a half months.
“I drove myself to the hospital, sitting on a towel, contracting.” Her voice is tiny. “It hurt. I was scared. And I—I knew what was happening.”
Ana reaches out and touches her back.
“I never even got to hold her. Darren never even showed up. He was in court.” Another shudder. “I never got to hold her.”
“Myka,fuck.” I growl this in her ear. “I’m so sorry.”
No one corrects me. I don’t think they dare.
She rolls her head against me, shaking it. “She was stillborn.” A pause. “But I…I didn’t stop bleeding. At first, it was normal, after a miscarriage or stillbirth, you bleed a bit. But it didn’t stop. It got heavier, the point that it was…dangerous... And I…they said I needed a hysterectomy. So I got one. I’ll never bear children.” An exhale. “Darren shut down even more. Pushed me away. Shut me out. He wanted kids. He wanted to have the perfect family, to show his parents…I don’t know what. I suppose he was hurting too, but he turned it on me, instead of comforting me.”
No one says anything for a long time.
