Like she was surviving anything. She'd been thrown away, discarded. And the worst part, the part that made her want to scream into the howling wind was that some broken piece of her still felt like it was her fault. Like if she'd just been different, better, whole. If her body had just worked the way it was supposed to, she'd be home right now, safe, wanted.
"You're not broken," her therapist had said last year when the fertility treatments failed for the third time. "This doesn't define your worth." But it did, didn't it? Because here she was alone in a bus shelter in a snowstorm. And the man who'd promised to love her in sickness and in health had dumped her like trash the second she couldn't give him what he wanted.
Headlights again. These ones slowed. Lena's heart jumped stupidly hopefully before she crushed it down. Probably just someone turning around. Nobody stopped for strangers anymore.
Nobody. The SUV pulled up to the curb. It was one of those huge black luxury things that cost more than most people made in a year. The kind Marcus drove to impress clients. The kind that screamed money and power and don't even think about approaching me.
Lena looked away. Wrong neighborhood for her anyway. Probably lost. They'd figure it out and leave. But the engine cut off.
She heard the door open. Footsteps crunching in fresh snow. Miss. The voice was male. Deep.
Careful. She didn't look up. Bus already came. I'm just waiting for a friend. The lie tasted like metal in her mouth.
In this weather. A pause. Without a phone. Her head snapped up. How did he— The man standing a few feet away wasn't what she expected.
Tall, yeah, and built like someone who had time for personal trainers. Dark hair going gray at the temples. Expensive coat that actually fit him properly. But his eyes weren't cold. They were concerned.
Actually concerned. I saw you from down the street, he said. You've been sitting here for a while. I'm fine. The words came out automatic, defensive.
You're shaking. I said I'm fine. He didn't move. Behind him, the SUV's back door opened and three kids piled out. Two boys and a girl, all bundled up like colorful snowmen.
They stopped when they saw her, going quiet in that way. kids did when they knew something was wrong but didn't have words for it. Dad, the girl said. She looked about eight, maybe nine. Is she okay? I'm fine, Lena repeated harsher this time.
She didn't need this. Didn't need their pity or their concern or whatever this was. Just go. I don't need help. The man dad apparently crouched down slowly, getting to her eye level without getting too close.