Page 95 of Adam & Eve

I picked her up and cradled her in my arms. “It’s going to be okay,” I whispered. I headed out

of the door without a backwards glance. I’d deal with those two later. If anything happened to her and

my child, I didn’t know what I’d do.

You’ll snap, the voice chimed in.

I agreed, and if that happened, no one would be safe.

T W E N T Y - F O U R

These last two weeks of living with Adam by choice had been worse than living with Adam in that

room by force. Like before, he was always there— everywhere— watching. Only now he hardly ever

spoke. He was like a ghost, haunting me. He wasn’t cruel or abusive. He took care of all my needs

and wants. He just didn’t speak to me or really look at me. I didn’t know how to take this Adam. In a

strange way, it caused me to low-key miss the old Adam. That made me feel weird and conflicted. I

was not supposed to care either way.

The silent treatment started the day I’d awakened in the hospital and found out I had

preeclampsia and could lose my child. Or we could both die. Adam had the nerve to put all the blame

on me like he didn’t have a part in causing me stress. Everything had been his fault. If he would have

never brought me to that room…

I wanted to tell him just that but couldn’t. He was worried. It was written all over his face,

and I wasn’t a complete monster. He’d listened to the doctor warn us about what could happen if I

didn’t go on bed rest and reduce my stress with tears in his eyes. Men like Adam didn’t cry, didn’t

feel. His show of emotion was endearing, but scary. I got distracted trying to make sense of it in my

head. Then I’d started thinking about what had happened in my apartment.

When the doctor left the room, the first thing out of my mouth had been to ask him about his

wife and Michael. I needed to know what had happened to them.

“Did you hurt them?” It sounded like more of an accusation than a question.

I wasn’t exactly surprised when he lost it. His gunmetal eyes had darkened to nearly black.

The look he’d given me—a combination of disgust and anger— had me feeling only an inch tall.

“The first thing you do is ask me about them after hearing that you and my child could possibly

die?” He’d sneered at me while rising from his seat then he bent down next to my bed so that we

were eye to eye. I wanted to look away from the intensity in his eyes but couldn’t, his hand on my jaw

made sure of that. “I’d forgive you for almost everything, but if my child dies...” he left the threat