The first time I understood that my husband wanted to destroy me, I was lying on a steel examination table, my wrists strapped down, with our three-month-old baby growing inside me.
That morning, Julian Vance had driven me to a private clinic in Manhattan. The whole way there he held my hand and talked about names for the baby, about a nursery painted in soft ivory, and about the Italian crib he wanted to have shipped in before Christmas.
“Don’t be afraid, Rachel,” he told me before kissing my forehead. “Dr. Beck is the best. They’ll just run a few tests and we’ll be home in time for dinner.”
For four years of marriage, Julian had been exactly like that with me. Attentive. Protective. Generous to a fault.
He remembered every date that mattered. He held doors, carried my bags, called me from business trips just to tell me about his day. When I once mentioned, in passing, that I had no family left in this world, he took my hand and promised I would never be alone again.
At least, that was what I believed.
He walked out of the procedure room saying he was going to get coffee. The door didn’t close all the way, and from the table I heard his voice on the other side of it.
It was not the voice of the man who kissed me every night.
It was cold.
“Is everything ready?”
“Yes, Mr. Vance,” Dr. Beck answered. “The staff who might ask questions have already left the floor.”
There were a few seconds of silence.
Then Julian said the words that split my life in two.
“End the pregnancy. And while she’s under anesthesia, take out her uterus. I want to make sure Rachel can never have children again.”
I felt the air disappear from my lungs.
The doctor hesitated.
“That will leave consequences that are impossible to hide.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Then I heard the name.
“Simone will be the mother of my children. She’s the one who deserves to give me an heir. Rachel has already served her purpose.”
Simone Carter.
The woman Julian always described as “an old friend from college.”
I closed my eyes, and for one instant I wanted to believe I had misunderstood.
But Dr. Beck walked in holding a syringe.
“Easy now, Mrs. Vance.”
I tried to sit up.
The straps stopped me.
“What are you going to give me?”
His smile vanished.
“Something to stop you from complicating our day.”
I fought while he brought the needle closer.
