Chapter 2 - The Woman on the Bus
I checked my bank account at the bus stop.
A few hundred dollars.
That was all Nathan thought five years of marriage and three unborn babies were worth.
I laughed once.
Then I cried so hard I had to press both hands over my mouth so strangers would not look at me.
The rain soaked through my pale dress and light coat. My hair stuck to my face. I wrapped one arm around my belly and whispered, “It’s okay.”
It was not okay.
But mothers lie beautifully when they are trying to keep fear away from their children.
I boarded a city bus because it was the only ride I could afford.
The inside smelled like wet coats, old rubber, and someone’s coffee. Rain streaked across the windows. A child cried near the back. A man argued into his phone near the front.
Then the first pain hit.
Sharp.
Deep.
Wrong.
I gripped the seat in front of me.
“No,” I whispered. “Not now.”
Another pain followed.
Worse.
The bus lurched near a bridge, and I cried out before I could stop myself.
People turned.
Some stared.
Some looked away because suffering makes strangers uncomfortable when they are not sure it is their problem.
Then a man two rows behind me stood.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Black coat.
Calm in a way that made the entire bus feel smaller.
His eyes met mine once.
And somehow, he understood.
“The driver isn’t stopping,” he said.
May you like
His voice carried quiet authority.
“You’re coming with me.”
