The pain was instant and blinding, like someone had taken a hot skillet and pressed it flat against my skin. The music kept playing for three more seconds before someone killed it. And then there was nothing—just silence, just the ringing in my ear where his hand had landed. I looked up at my husband from the floor and didn’t recognize the man standing over me. His face was twisted into something ugly, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“You cheating whore!” he yelled. “You really thought you could pass off someone else’s baby as mine?”
I couldn’t speak. My cheek was on fire and my brain couldn’t process what was happening.
“Evan, what are you talking about?” I finally managed. “I’ve never cheated on you. I would never do that to you.”
He laughed, and it sounded like something breaking.
“Stop lying.”
He was screaming now, veins bulging in his neck, spit flying from his mouth.
“You can’t be pregnant with my baby, Marina. I had a vasectomy four years ago before we even got married. I can’t have babies.”
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