On the first night after I was discharged, I was packing for the funeral the next day when Carlos suddenly pushed the door open.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw me holding a book. Since I became pregnant, he had bought piles of books and read to our child every day, only because my Greenville University acceptance letter had burned in the fire.
He said this child would one day make up for my regret.
I heard his footsteps grow lighter as he came closer and with a long sigh, he snatched the book from my hands and tossed a medical report in front of me. “Hannah, are you satisfied?”
The word “hysterectomy” stood out on the paper. “She was just a young girl. First you hit her, then forced her to kneel and now she has lost the right to be a mother. Hannah, you’re so cruel.”
“I’m cruel?”
“Carlos, when you called me to save you, did you forget my child was already eight months along?”
“My child didn’t deserve protection; why should you guard her so carefully? Whoever made the mistake had to pay.”
“Carlos, my only regret was not killing her the day she first appeared.”