I Heard Him While My Eyes Were Closed

The first thing I remember clearly after the attack was my fiancé saying my face had solved his problem.

I was lying in a hospital bed in Columbus with gauze covering my cheek, jaw, and neck. My eyes were swollen almost shut. Christian Prescott stood a few feet away, arguing quietly with his manager, Gabriel.

They thought I was unconscious.

“You said she wouldn’t be able to go through with the wedding,” Christian whispered.

“I said I knew you wanted the wedding stopped,” Gabriel replied. “I never agreed to this.”

Silence.

Then Christian said:

“It’s better than me canceling on her.”

I kept my breathing slow.

Six days earlier, Christian and I had been preparing for a wedding entertainment reporters were calling one of the biggest celebrity events of the summer.

Christian was a nationally known pop singer. His face was on billboards, magazine covers, fragrance advertisements, and tour posters.

I had been with him for almost five years.

That afternoon, I had gone to my final bridal fitting alone.

When I stepped outside carrying the white garment bag, a man in a baseball cap approached me.

I remember him bumping my shoulder.

Then something splashed across my face and neck.

Heat followed instantly.

People screamed. Someone pulled me back inside the store while another person poured water over me.

The last thing I clearly saw before the ambulance arrived was my wedding dress lying partly across the sidewalk.

White satin against dirty concrete.

Now Christian was talking about what had happened as if it were a publicity problem.

Gabriel lowered his voice.

“You could have canceled the wedding.”

“And destroyed everything we’ve built?”

“It’s a wedding, Christian.”

“It’s six sponsorships, a tour announcement, two campaigns, and an image people have bought into for five years.”

I heard Christian pull a chair closer to my bed.

“This way nobody blames me.”

My fingers tightened beneath the blanket.

He Planned to Keep Me

Gabriel paced near the window.

“What happens when she wakes up?”

Christian answered immediately.

“She comes home.”

“After this?”

“Especially after this.”

His voice became softer.

“She’ll need surgeries. Security. Private doctors. She won’t want cameras following her. I can give her somewhere quiet to live.”

Gabriel stopped walking.

“Where she depends entirely on you.”

Christian didn’t answer.

Then he said:

“She’ll be taken care of.”

I felt his hand touch the blanket near my wrist.

I wanted to pull away.

I didn’t.

Gabriel asked him how long he had been planning this.

Christian sounded irritated.

“The wedding became a problem months ago.”

“Why?”

A pause.

“Genevieve wanted children.”

My heartbeat seemed suddenly louder than the monitor.

Gabriel sounded confused.

“What does that have to do with this?”

Christian lowered his voice.

“Lawson handled it before.”

Dr. Mitchell Lawson had been my private physician for almost four years.

Christian had recommended him.

I had trusted him through three pregnancies.

And three losses.

After the first, Dr. Lawson told me early pregnancy loss was common.

After the second, he ordered tests.

After the third, he suggested my body simply might not be able to maintain a pregnancy.

Christian had held me afterward while I cried.

“We’ll keep trying when you’re ready,” he had told me.

Now Gabriel asked:

“What exactly did Lawson handle?”

“Medication. Timing. Whatever was necessary.”

Gabriel went silent.

So did I.

“Are you telling me those pregnancies—”

“Don’t phrase it like that.”

“How should I phrase it?”

Christian sighed.

“I couldn’t have a child with Genevieve.”

“Why?”

Another pause.

Then:

“Because I already have one.”

For a second, I thought the medication had confused me.

Gabriel apparently did too.

“What?”

“His name is Leo.”

“How old?”

“Four.”

Christian and I had been together almost five years.

Gabriel asked the obvious question.

“Who’s his mother?”

“Sabrina Croft.”

I knew the name.

Sabrina had known Christian before he became famous. Whenever old photographs appeared online, his publicity team described her as an old friend.

“Does Genevieve know?”

Gabriel asked.

Christian looked toward my bed.

I could feel the silence.

“No.”

Then he added:

“And she never needed to.”

The First Thing I Did Was Leave

A nurse entered several minutes later.

Christian’s voice changed immediately.

He asked about my medication. He asked whether my pain was being controlled. He asked if he could stay overnight.

He sounded like a frightened fiancé.

Eventually, the nurse asked him to leave.

Before going, Christian leaned over me and kissed an undamaged part of my forehead.

“I’m right here, sweetheart.”

I waited until the door closed.

Then I opened my eyes.

The ceiling was blurry.

My engagement ring was still on my finger.

I worked it loose and placed it inside the bedside drawer.

Then I pressed the nurse-call button.

I didn’t tell anyone what I had heard yet.

I didn’t know whether Dr. Lawson had access to my treatment.

I didn’t know who had carried out the attack.