Miscarried and Betrayed My Best Friend and I Walked Away

After graduation, my best friend and I stayed on in the big city, and by some strange twist of fate we both married into the Gray family at the same time.

I married the older brother, Bartholomew Gray, the man everyone called the most handsome lawyer in town.

My best friend married the younger brother, Walter Gray, the youngest department head at the hospital.

Meryl Delgado and I got pregnant less than a month apart.

Six months along, we were at the yoga studio one day when my yoga ball inexplicably burst, sending me straight down onto my tailbone, blood running down between my legs.

Seeing me collapse in a pool of blood, Meryl immediately called Walter.

But Walter answered, impatient: "Meryl, if you want me to come do yoga with you, do you really have to cook up some sick, twisted lie like this? My job is saving lives, not babysitting my wife."

She called three more times in a row. He hung up on every one.

So she had no choice but to call Bartholomew, and his attitude was no better: "You two were both perfectly fine when I dropped you off at the studio. Now, in under twenty minutes, there's massive bleeding? Kate's dog got killed by another dog, and as her legal counsel I have to go investigate and gather evidence right now! You tell Zelda Pruitt to stop making trouble while I'm working!"

The blood soaking through kept spreading across the carpet, and the people around us didn't dare lift a hand to help.

Meryl had no choice but to grit her teeth, hoist me onto her back, and carry me to the hospital.

I lost my baby, and she miscarried too, from straining herself too hard.

After the surgery, in the hospital room, we looked at each other quietly, our eyes going red.

"Meryl, I'm getting a divorce."

"Congratulations. So am I."

——

The moment I heard Bartholomew's words over that phone, my mind was made up.

So the first thing I did when I woke was message Bartholomew to tell him I wanted a divorce.

It was a long time before he finally called me back.

"Zelda Pruitt, what nonsense are you spouting? I already told you I was working. What are you throwing a fit for? Can't a husband and wife even manage the most basic mutual understanding?"

I let out a bitter little laugh. So he knew a husband and wife were supposed to understand each other after all.

Then why was I always the one who gave in?

"I spent all that money sending you two to learn yoga, and wasn't that for the good of you and the baby? You're still not satisfied? What exactly do I have to do before you're content? Fine, I've got a case to handle right now. Whatever it is, it can wait until I'm done!"

Without giving me a chance to say a word back, Bartholomew, smug as ever, hung up the phone.

My heart had long since turned to ash, but in that moment the tears still slid traitorously from the corners of my eyes.

I really wanted to ask him whether he even remembered how the two of us had ever started doing yoga in the first place.

Early in the pregnancy, I had in fact mentioned to him that yoga was good for expectant mothers.

But he'd said that I wasn't earning anything while I was pregnant anyway, so I should stop filling my head with ways to spend money.

If I wanted exercise, he said, I could just do more housework, and it would have the same effect as yoga.

Fine, then. I didn't argue.

Then half a month ago, his adoptive sister, Kate Bennett, said yoga helped the baby develop.

And just like that, the two brothers agreed to sign us up for the class.

Two years of dating, one year of marriage, even a child of our love on the way.

None of it measured up to a single sentence from his adoptive sister.

Kate found the class for us and even introduced us to the instructor.

Her eagerness even smoothed things over between us for a while.

But I never once imagined that the same repetitive yoga routine would end up costing me my baby today.

At the time, Meryl was holding me against her, covered in my blood, so I heard every word of her call with Bartholomew, clear as day.