My mind ran in circles, trying to recall any symptoms, but I came up short. And if that news wasn’t bad enough, what my mother said next truly did me in.
“The stab wound punctured your uterus, Kandy.” Mom sniffled, grabbing my hands and squeezing them. “You bled a lot, but it was mostly the baby. According to the doctors, you were six weeks along…but you…you lost the baby, honey.” Tears rolled down her pink cheeks. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
So.
So.
Sorry.
The word sorry wasn’t fitting enough. It did nothing to the hollowness in my chest, didn’t fill me up one damn bit.
They say there are five stages of grief. Well, this was where stage one started: denial. And the next one, anger. It swept through me like a plague, but despite how mad I was, I couldn’t do anything but break down and sob into my own hands.
Kelly stabbed me, almost like she knew where it would hurt most. I was in a rage. I wanted to find her and strangle her. I’d never felt so hostile, and yet still so helpless. I couldn’t leave the hospital, and Cane was being questioned for something he didn’t even do.
That night, I wept. Mom held me. Dad was too livid to come too close at first, so he walked out and got some air. He was gone for only twenty minutes before coming back and wrapping me in his arms. Both of my parents—my beautiful, loving parents, who only wanted the best for me—were holding me, cooing to me. Murmuring that everything was going to be okay.
I felt safe—still angry, but safe.
In that moment, my parents were my rock, and my worries had temporarily subsided.
Little did I know that stage two was a walk in the park compared to stage three and four.
Anger is easy to feel and easy to let go of. But to bargain and ask for the right thing to happen, and then to feel like there is nothing left to do but let go and accept the terrible fate?
Well, that’s the hardest part.
Chapter Two
CANE
I was so sick of being hounded with questions. The detectives were on my ass all night, and at one point, I thought they were never going to let up.
Was I a dumbass for touching the knife? Yes, but that didn’t make me the threat. I was trying to stop that bitch from killing me.
“What would possess you to touch the weapon that harmed Kandy, Mr. Cane? Explain it to me, because it truly doesn’t make any sense.” Detective Maye stood in front of me, her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, wrinkles forming around her eyes. She had to be in her early forties, with brown skin and dark brown eyes. She’d been hounding me ever since she walked into the room with her hefty partner Jordan Rowe at her side.
Apparently, she was the bad cop, and he was the good one. Either way, neither of them could fool me. Luckily, thirty minutes ago, my attorney, Mario Valdez, came waltzing into the room, and I was glad because I needed this night to be over.
“Look, I don’t know what else you’d like him to say,” my attorney said, sitting forward. “As he explained, he took the knife from Miss Hugo’s hands and tackled her to the ground because he was under attack. She had already stabbed a young lady, Detective Maye. She most likely would have gone after him, too, if he hadn’t stopped her. Instead of questioning my client, how about you bring Miss Hugo in and question her about it? He isn’t the only suspect of this horrific crime.”
“We are looking for her right now,” Detective Rowe stated.
“My client has been here for well over fourteen hours. He is tired and exhausted and upset about the events that happened under the roof of his own home. He’s not under arrest, is he?”
“Not exactly,” Detective Rowe muttered, looking sideways at Detective Maye.
“Well if he isn’t under arrest, he should be able to leave. If you have any more questions, he will be around to answer them. He won’t be far.”
Detective Maye glared at me. When her phone chimed, she took it out, finally pulling her eyes away from me to check the screen. She then showed the phone to her partner, whose bushy eyebrows shot up to his forehead when he read the notification.
Detective Rowe grunted as he stood and walked to the door to open it.
“You can go,” he said.
“Is there something we should be aware of, Detective Maye?” Mario asked, collecting his pens and papers and tucking them into his briefcase.
I stood up, heading for the door.
“The victim has spoken to one of our investigators.” Detective Maye let out a short breath. “She remembers everything. Says Miss Hugo showed up and attacked her, and Mr. Cane here tried to stop her. I suppose your confession has been proven true.”