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Whack!!!
The sting came before the sound-a sharp, burning sensation across my cheek that made my ears ring. In that fragmented second, I couldn't process what had happened. My body knew before my mind did, and I stumbled backward until my spine hit the wall of our immaculate kitchen.
James stood before me, his hand still suspended in the air. His eyes, those hazel eyes I'd fallen in love with, widened in horror at what he'd just done. We both froze in the awful silence that followed.
"Lily..." My name came out of his mouth like a plea.
My hand found my cheek, fingers trembling against the heated skin. Two months pregnant. After four years of trying. After twenty failed IVF treatments. After countless nights, I cried myself to sleep. After depression so deep I'd nearly drowned in it.
And he had just hit me.
"I didn't mean..." James stepped toward me, his voice breaking. "Baby, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me."
I couldn't speak. My throat felt swollen shut. All I could do was press myself harder against the wall, as if I could somehow pass through it and escape this moment.
"Please say something," he begged, tears welling in his eyes. "It was the stress-the fight about the nursery colors. I haven't been sleeping. I would never hurt you intentionally, Lily. You know that."
Did I know that? The James I married four years ago would never have raised a hand to me. But the James standing before me now, with panic flooding his face, I didn't recognize him.
"I need a minute," I finally whispered, sliding along the wall toward the hallway.
"Don't leave," he said, not moving, but his eyes following me. "Please. We need to talk about this."
I hesitated, my hand protectively moving to my still-flat stomach. Our miracle. The baby we'd cried, prayed, and emptied our bank accounts for.
"I just hit my pregnant wife," James said, his voice hollow with disbelief. He sank to his knees on our polished hardwood floor, burying his face in his hands. "What kind of monster am I becoming?"
Something inside me softened at the sight of him breaking down. This was the man who had held me through every negative pregnancy test. Who had wiped away my tears after each failed implantation. Who had researched alternative treatments late into the night while I slept.
I moved toward him slowly, like approaching a wounded animal.
"It will never happen again," he promised, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes. "I swear on my life, Lily."
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