He climbed in the window and looked around. He couldn’t hear anything. No shower running. No laugh tracks coming from the TV. No happy Maria music blaring. Nothing. It didn’t feel right.

He must have called her name a dozen times. He expected to see her in the kitchen eating ice cream just like she said she would. No one else was in the house.

He told himself that she was just over at his apartment. Maybe she’d taken a walk or something. She was probably looking for him right now. He’d go over there and find her and she’d be fine. He would cuss her out for scaring him and wring Tess’s neck and then everything would be fine.

He slipped on something as he was letting himself out. He felt glass crunch beneath his shoe. He lifted his foot and saw the shards of glass lying in an oily puddle.

It smelled like Cyprus oil.

He found Maria’s keys and took her car. He took the shortest path between Maria’s and his apartment. He drove as fast as he could.

***

He found her in his bed. The blue light of the moon outlined her. He could just barely make her out. He let himself breathe a sigh or relief and he walked towards the bed.

He could hear something. Barely. He told himself that it was radiators hissing and then remembered that it was still too hot to have them running at all. It sounded like breathing. Shallow. Ragged. Barely audible.

It was coming from her.

He let his eyes adjust so that he could see her more clearly in the darkness. He stepped towards her. He reached the doorway: he saw the yellow-black bruises beneath her eyes. He moved closer: he saw the cuts that covered her face, her arms, her legs. The floorboards creaked: he saw the dried blood that matted her golden hair. He reached the foot of the bed: he could saw the blood spotting her pants and pooling between her legs. He came up to her. He leaned over her. He saw silver peeking out from under her shirt. He pulled it up and saw the handprint on her belly.

“Oh,” His voice broke. He fell to his knees beside her.

She jerked and looked up at him. “Michael?” The corner of her mouth tore when she whispered his name.

“Shh… shh… don’t speak.” He put his hand to her cheek. She flinched beneath his fingertips. She bled onto his hand. She bled everywhere. And the handprint was smeared across her belly.

[No.]

“Michael,” Her lip split and bled. “Our baby.” She reached out to touch him. “I hurt so bad. It’s the baby. Please. Our little girl.” She brushed her hand across his face. She turned away from him. She closed her eyes.

[No.]

He shook her a little.

[Don’t.]