Chapter 38Gone Before I Knew It
Gone Before I Knew It
Isabella
I push open the gas station door, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights.
The place is bigger than the last one, clean, fully stocked, the kind of stop that feels almost too normal after everything.
The smell of burnt coffee lingers in the air, and right now, I need it. Something strong, something grounding.
“I need coffee,” I mutter, heading for the machines.
Ada walks beside me, scanning the store the way she always does. “If it’s anything like the last one, I’d rather drink bleach.”
I huff a quiet laugh, grabbing a cup. But as soon as my fingers wrap around it, a deep pressure blooms in my lower stomach.
I pause.
It’s probably nothing. Stress. Lack of sleep. My body reminding me how much I’ve been pushing it. I shake it off and reach for the coffee pot, but the moment I straighten, a sharp, twisting pain grips me so hard I have to suck in a breath.
“Isabella?” Ada’s voice sharpens, cautious now.
I swallow against the sudden nausea, pressing a hand to my stomach. “I—I need the bathroom.”
I abandon the coffee and walk fast, too fast, toward the back of the store, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. The second I step into the stall, another wave of pain crashes through me, sharper this time, deeper.
And then—warmth.
Something isn’t right.
Dread coils in my gut as I fumble with my jeans, my breath quick and uneven. When I finally look down, my stomach drops.
Blood.
Too much.
I stare, uncomprehending, my mind struggling to catch up with what my body is telling me. This isn’t normal.
“Ada,” I whisper, my voice barely there.
The stall door swings open, and she’s there, crouching beside me before I can even blink. The moment she sees the blood, her face goes tight.
“Shit,” she breathes. “Isabella, when was your last period?”
The question throws me. I open my mouth, but no answer comes. When was my last period? Never.
Everything’s been off—my sleep, my appetite, my moods.
The Prozac.
“I—I never really had one,” I admit, my voice shaky. “It’s been weird. I’ve been on meds, and nothing’s felt normal.”
Ada’s eyes flick between mine, sharp and assessing. “Isabella,” she says carefully, “have you had sex in the last few weeks? Months?”
Heat floods my face. My throat goes tight. “Yes,” I answer, the word barely leaving my lips.
Ada doesn’t look surprised, but she does press on, her voice firm. “You didn’t use protection, did you?”
I shake my head, feeling small, feeling stupid. “I—no,” I admit, swallowing against the lump rising in my throat. “I mean, I never really thought I had to.”
Ada’s brows knit together. “Why?”
I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I grip the stall wall. “I was told when I was younger that I probably couldn’t get pregnant. That it was… almost impossible.” My voice wavers. “I’ve never had a regular cycle. My doctors said the chances were so low that I—I just never thought…”
I trail off, because what’s the point of finishing the sentence? The evidence is right in front of me, staining my thighs, my jeans, my hands.
Ada exhales, rubbing her forehead. “Jesus, Isabella.”
Ada inhales sharply. “Okay. Alright. Listen to me; you might be having a miscarriage.”
The word slams into me like a punch to the chest.
I shake my head, gripping the stall wall for balance. “That’s not possible. I—I can’t be…”
Pregnant.
My whole body is trembling, soaked in cold sweat, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
And then, the blood.
It’s not just spotting; it’s gushing, dark and thick, pooling beneath me, staining everything.
The metallic scent fills the small bathroom, making my stomach twist violently.
Another wave of nausea slams into me, and I barely have time to brace myself before I’m dry-heaving, my body convulsing with the force of it.
My lower back aches with a deep, unrelenting throb, the pain radiating down into my legs. Every muscle in my body is tensed, locked in place as another brutal cramp seizes me. It’s different from anything I have ever experienced—this is deeper, rawer, like my body is trying to expel something.
The pressure intensifies.
It feels like a weight pressing down, like something is shifting, moving inside me. My hands fly to my stomach instinctively, but there’s nothing I can do. My body has already decided.
Another contraction grips me, and this time, I scream. I can’t stop it. The pain is unbearable, sharp and unrelenting, worse than anything I’ve ever felt. And then, I feel something pass.
A rush of more warmth.
My breath catches in my throat as I look down between my trembling thighs. My vision tunnels, my mind refusing to process what I’m seeing. A mass, small, unmoving, slipping into the toilet bowl. The world tilts, nausea surging again as reality slams into me all at once.
I shake my head, gasping, chest heaving, my hands gripping the stall walls so hard my nails dig into the metal. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
The pain doesn’t stop. Another wave of cramping, more blood, more of me leaving my body. My limbs feel weak, my skin ice cold, my vision blurring at the edges.
A strangled sob rips from my throat, raw and broken. I don’t even recognize the sound as my own. My body is still trembling, locked in the aftermath of pain and shock, but my mind, my mind is stuck, trapped in the sight before me.
I feel Ada’s hands on me, gripping my arms, her fingers pressing into my skin, grounding me. I don’t know when she moved closer, but she’s here, kneeling beside me on the dirty gas station floor, her breath shaky, her face tight with something unreadable.
I can’t breathe. My chest rises and falls too fast, too shallow. My vision swims.
I choke on another sob, my hands flying to my stomach, pressing against the empty space, the space that wasn’t supposed to be empty at all. I didn’t even know, and now, now it’s gone.
I let out a whimper, curling forward, as if that will somehow pull everything back inside, as if I can undo what just happened.
Ada’s grip tightens. “Isabella,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. I hear something in it—something fragile, something breaking.
I lift my head just enough to meet her eyes, and my stomach twists again.
She’s crying.
Silent tears slip down her cheeks, her lips pressed together, her brows drawn in pain. Not for herself. For me.
That only makes it worse.
I shake my head, more tears spilling, my whole body wracking with uneven, gasping breaths. “I didn’t know,” I whisper. “Ada, I—I didn’t know . ”
“I know,” she breathes, nodding, her hands sliding up to cup my face. “I know.”
My vision blurs, my head falling forward, and suddenly I’m in her arms. She’s holding me, her grip tight, unyielding, like she’s trying to keep me together while I fall apart.
“I didn’t even know,” I sob into her shoulder. “How could I not know ? ”
Ada doesn’t answer. Maybe there is no answer.
We stay there, kneeling on the cold tile, my body shaking, my mind unraveling, the weight of it all pressing down so hard I can barely hold myself up.
And then, after what feels like forever, she pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands still firm on my arms.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” she says, her voice thick but steady.
I blink at her, my mind sluggish, my body so weak I feel like I might collapse.
“No,” I murmur, shaking my head weakly. “I—I can’t—”
“You have to,” she cuts in, her tone gentle but firm. “You’re losing too much blood. We need to make sure you’re okay.”
The agony feels never-ending, relentless, like my whole body is being torn apart, and in the back of my mind, a single thought loops over and over: I didn’t know.