Her words shifted the focus onto me with the precision of a woman who had been redirecting conversations her entire life. I was no longer the wronged wife standing in a hospital corridor. I was the jealous woman who had followed her husband. The unstable one. The problem.
I could only chuckle. The sound came out dry and hollow, scraping against my throat.
"Right. You're just here for a check-up, and I just happened to be here too. I'm not stalking."
Probably thinking I was being defensive, that I was confirming his suspicion with my tone, Simone stepped forward and shoved me. Not hard. Not the way he'd hit a man. But hard enough. His palm against my shoulder, pushing me back with the casual force of a man who has never had to think about the damage his hands can do.
"Goodness, Grazia, stop imagining things! She's practically a sister to me!"
I had just had surgery.
The shove sent me backward and my legs gave out. Pain shot through my lower abdomen, sharp and immediate, a white-hot flare that radiated outward from the place where the baby had been. I hit the ground. My knees struck the linoleum. My hands caught me, barely, and the discharge papers scattered across the floor.