They were large, translucent capsules filled with a powdery white substance, identical to the ones I had been taking for the last six months. My hands shook violently as I pulled my phone from my robe pocket. I typed the small alphanumeric code stamped on the side of the capsule into a pill identifier site.
The result loaded, the screen glaring in the dim bathroom light. It wasn’t a prenatal vitamin. It was a potent combination of a high-grade muscle relaxant and a heavy antipsychotic known to cause severe weight gain, abdominal swelling, amenorrhea, and lethargy.
My breath caught in my throat. I looked down at my swollen belly. The “kicks” I had been feeling for weeks? Muscle spasms induced by the neurological effects of the drugs. The morning sickness? Withdrawal symptoms kicking in before my next dose. The “telehealth” appointments Mark insisted on setting up with his “highly recommended specialist”? A complete fabrication.
I wasn’t growing a life. I was being poisoned.
“Sweetheart?”
Mark’s voice drifted through the bathroom door, sickeningly gentle. “You’ve been in there a while. Everything okay with our little guy?”
Panic flared, hot and sharp. I looked around the pristine bathroom. No windows. One door. And Mark was standing right on the other side.
“I’m fine, babe!” I called back, fighting to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Just… my back aches. Taking a moment.”
“Make sure you take those vitamins,” he said, the doorknob rattling slightly as he tested the lock. “Dr. Aris said they’re crucial for this final stretch. I made you some tea to wash them down.”
I dumped the pills into the toilet and flushed. I needed to get out of this house, but if I tried to overpower him, I’d lose. My muscles were atrophied from months of enforced “bed rest,” and my mind was sluggish from the constant dosing. I had to use the one thing he believed he controlled: my frailty.
I unlocked the door and pulled it open. Mark stood there, smiling softly, holding a steaming mug of tea. He looked so normal. So loving. It made my stomach heave.
“There’s my beautiful mama,” he whispered, reaching out to stroke my swollen stomach. I forced myself not to flinch.
“Mark,” I gasped, suddenly gripping the doorframe and letting my knees buckle just enough to sell the lie. “Mark, something is wrong. I… I don’t feel him moving. I have a sharp pain.”
His smile faltered, replaced by a flash of genuine annoyance before he masked it with concern. “It’s just Braxton Hicks, honey. Let’s get you back to bed. Drink your tea.”
“No,” I cried, tears of actual terror spilling over. “No, I’m bleeding. We have to go to the ER. Now.”
“I’ll call Dr. Aris,” he said coldly, setting the tea down on the hall table and stepping toward me, his hands reaching out to physically restrain me. “We aren’t going anywhere.”
As his hands clamped down on my shoulders, I dropped my dead weight, slipping out of his grasp. On my way down, my hand found the heavy, solid-stone base of a decorative statue resting on the console table. I didn’t think. I just swung.
The stone connected with the side of his knee with a sickening crunch. Mark howled, his leg buckling beneath him as he crashed to the hardwood floor.
I didn’t look back. The lethargy vanished, replaced by a massive surge of adrenaline. I scrambled to my feet and bolted for the stairs. For months, I had been walking like a woman carrying eight pounds of a baby. Now, terrified and fighting for my life, I realized just how terrifyingly light I actually was.
“You can’t leave!” Mark screamed from the hallway, his voice dropping its sweet facade, turning guttural and desperate. “You need me! You’re sick!”
