Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
TEN YEARS AGO
“Janie, look at this.”
Jane tore her eyes from the endless row of diapers to find Matteo standing in front of her holding a tiny pair of knit booties.
“Can you believe how small the baby’s feet will be?” He reached out to give her stomach a rub. “Especially with how huge you are.”
Jane stepped away from him, pressing a hand to the top of her bowling-ball belly. “I’m not huge . This is what pregnant women look like.” She focused on the shelf in front of her. Huggies and Pampers, what was the difference? This is when I wish I could call Mom.
“Don’t be so sensitive,” Matteo muttered, tossing the booties into the cart. “I’m just having a little fun.”
Jane sighed. She probably was being sensitive. Her back hurt, her ankles were swollen, and yeah, she felt huge. While Matteo looked as fit as ever in his tight black jeans and T-shirt. She’d caught two other women and a man checking him out in this store alone—while nobody was going to look at her twice except to feel sorry that she had to endure being nine months pregnant in a Los Angeles heatwave.
“I’m sorry,” she said, taking Matteo’s hand. “The booties are adorable.”
“Whatever,” he said, wandering off.
Jane watched him disappear around the corner and her lungs squeezed with anxiety. She should chase after him and smooth things over. He’d been a perfect partner throughout this pregnancy. All of her fears that they’d have another incident like the one the day she’d gotten the positive test had turned out to be completely unfounded. Sure, sometimes he got a little grumpy when she didn’t feel like having sex, and he expected her to clean and cook dinner every night, even though she could barely reach the stove around her midsection. But he’d been so excited, almost like a kid himself, buying baby toys and adorable little clothes, and making a list of names.
Jane tossed a package of newborn Pampers into the cart and followed it up with the same sized Huggies, and then she steered her cart after Matteo. She found him chatting up the pretty young woman at the checkout counter. She’s probably my age. But the checkout girl’s hair was glossy and her stomach flat.
“Hi,” Jane said, sidling up next to Matteo.
“Jane, hey,” Matteo said. “Vanessa was just telling me that most women only gain, like, 25 pounds during pregnancy.”
Vanessa gave Jane a smirk. It was like she knew that Jane had gained more than that.
Matteo laughed. “I’m just messing with you.” He wrapped an arm around Jane’s shoulder. “You know I think you’re gorgeous.”
Jane forced a smile as she unloaded her baby items onto the counter .
That night, Jane’s water broke. She woke up alone in their bed, the pain coming in waves. What’s happening? Where’s Matteo?
Jane sat up and looked at the clock. One in the morning. He’s at the club. Jane grabbed her phone, hitting the button to call him. It rang six times and went to voicemail. She hung up and immediately tried again.
Voicemail again.
Jane hauled herself out of bed, stopping to grab the night table and bend over to breathe through a contraction. I’m nine months pregnant. Why doesn’t he have his phone on him? She managed to get herself dressed and roll her suitcase out of the closet. Luckily, she’d packed it last week, just in case.
Panting heavily, she barely managed to wrestle the suitcase down the stairs, at one point nearly tipping forward and falling down half a flight. Inside the club, Jane fought her way through the crowd to the bar. She found Matteo pouring shots for a group of women in a bachelorette party, smiling, laughing, charming them with whatever story he was telling.
“Matteo,” she gasped, shoving her way to the bar as another contraction overtook her. “My water broke. I’m in labor.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, hell. Okay.” He dropped the tequila bottle on the counter and rounded the bar to wrap an arm around her back. “I’ve got you.”
Jane panted, leaning into his strong frame as he guided her out of the bar.
Matteo barked some orders to the bouncer and then they headed to his car down the street. Jane climbed in as another contraction hit. And suddenly, all she wanted was Mom. Her mommy, who’d spent hours on the bathroom floor, holding back Jane’s hair and rubbing her back when she had a stomach bug. Who’d made her favorite soup and sat with her watching the entire first season of the Gilmore Girls when Jane had the flu. Who’d come in the middle of the night when Jane had a nightmare. This pain, this terror, it was like the worst nightmare coming to life.
I can’t do this. I can’t have a baby.
I need my mother.
“Breathe through it,” Matteo said, repeating the words of the woman in the childbirth video they’d watched a few weeks ago. “You’re doing great.”
Jane gave him a weak smile. Mom wasn’t there, but Matteo was.
Through the entire drive to the hospital, the elevator ride to the birth room, and finally, through twelve hours of labor, Matteo held her hand and coached her through the contractions with sweat beading his forehead and anxiety clouding his features. “You can do it, Jane. Push.”
Later, while Jane held the baby against her chest, Matteo stood next to the bed and gazed down at them with a proud, tired smile. “You’re amazing, Jane.” He stroked her hair, and Jane closed her eyes, overcome with emotion.
The first few weeks were like a dream. Scarlett took to nursing right away, and she slept most of the time, so Jane was able to rest and heal from childbirth. Matteo went back to work at the club, but he’d stop in every few hours to check on them, to make sure Scarlett was nursing and that Jane had enough to eat.
Jane hadn’t been in touch with Mom since her call all those months ago, but she sent a photo of Scarlett along with her phone number.
“She’s gorgeous, Jane. I can’t believe you have a baby.” There were tears in Mom’s voice when the call came through. “My baby has a baby.”
“The doctor said she’s perfectly healthy and right on track with weight gain.”
“And your—” Mom hesitated. “The father of the baby? ”
Jane told Mom a little about Matteo—how much he loved Scarlett, what a good father he was turning out to be.
“And he’s nice to you? He treats you well?”
“Yes. He’s wonderful.”
Mom’s relieved sigh carried through the phone.
“I’ll send more pictures,” Jane offered.
Mom was silent for a moment. “Maybe you shouldn’t. I don’t want your father to find them. Maybe we could just talk every now and then when Dad is on one of his fishing trips.”
A wave of pain slowly rolled over Jane. “I understand,” she finally managed to choke out.
But she didn’t. And she never would.
When Scarlett was a month old, she started waking up every hour and screaming at the top of her lungs. Nothing Jane did would soothe her—not nursing, not bouncing her, not pacing back and forth across the living room.
“What the hell is wrong with that baby?” Matteo snapped, after the fourth night without any sleep.
“I don’t know,” Jane said, so tired she could cry. “The doctor said it’s colic.”
“Well, get her some medicine for that.”
“There isn’t any.” Jane bounced Scarlett up and down in her arms. And then up and down again. She was so tired. “We just have to keep trying to soothe her.”
“This is ridiculous,” Matteo snarled. “I need my sleep. Some of us have to work . I can’t just be lying around all day like you can.”
“I don’t just—” But Jane stopped. He was tired, they both were. Arguing would only start a fight.
The next night, Scarlett’s crying seemed to intensify. Jane paced back and forth, back and forth across the living room, trying to shush the baby, to keep her from waking Matteo. He did have to work. “Please go to sleep,” she whispered, over and over. But Scarlett just screamed louder.
Behind her, the bedroom door banged open. Matteo stormed into the living room. “You need to get her out of here.” He waved in Scarlett’s direction.
Exhausted and on the verge of crying herself, Jane sputtered, “What do you mean get her out of here ? Where am I going to take her?”
“Just…” Matteo pressed a hand to his temples as if the noise was going to make his head explode. “Get. Her. Out.” He grabbed Jane by the arm and pulled her across the living room.
“What are you doing ?” She tried to break free, but his grip tightened. And then the next thing she knew, Matteo had opened the door and shoved her and Scarlett out in the hall. “I need my damn sleep.”
Jane’s mouth dropped open. “Matteo?—”
But he’d already slammed the door in her face. The lock clicked into place.
Jane shook the doorknob, but the door didn’t budge. He was joking. He had to be joking. She knocked once and then harder. Scarlett wailed louder, but Matteo remained silent inside the apartment. “Matteo,” Jane screamed, pounding on the door, “let me in.”
She kept knocking, kept shaking the doorknob, sure that any moment he’d let her back inside. Five minutes went by, and then ten, and finally exhausted, hoarse, and with her fist aching, Jane backed away from the door. She searched the narrow hallway for some idea of what to do now. Theirs was the only apartment above the club, so she didn’t have any neighbors to ask for help. It was 4 a.m. and the club was closed. If she’d had her phone, she could call Yolanda, but Matteo had it locked inside. And she couldn’t very well go walking around on the streets of LA with a crying baby and no shoes or wallet in order to find a 24-hour convenience store with a phone.
Jane slid down to the floor still rocking her wailing daughter. “It’s going to be okay,” she murmured, over and over. But at this point, she wasn’t sure if she was saying it for her own benefit or the baby’s.
Jane woke up on the floor, with Scarlett on her chest and Matteo standing over her. Dazed, she hauled herself to a seated position, trying not to disturb the baby, who had finally fallen asleep.
“Shit, Jane,” Matteo said, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I was just so tired I wasn’t thinking straight.” He held out a hand to help her to her feet.
“How could you do that to me?” Jane mumbled, but she was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. Her neck hurt from sleeping at a strange angle, her arms ached from holding Scarlett for hours on end, and she was desperate to pee.
Matteo took the baby from her arms while she ran to the bathroom. When she opened the door a few minutes later, he was waiting there, rocking a sleeping Scarlett, a contrite look on his face. He shifted Scarlett to one arm so he could wrap the other around Jane. “You sleep as long as you need to. I don’t have to be at work until eight. I’ll take care of Scarlett.”
When she woke, Matteo had given Scarlett a bath and changed her, and he had dinner waiting.
“You can’t ever do that again,” Jane told him.
“I know. I know. I won’t.”
Scarlett’s colic seemed to improve, and Jane figured out that if the crying grew too loud, she could take the baby in the bathroom and close the door. Matteo started sleeping better, and another month went by as they settled into this new routine. Soon, Jane grew more confident with Scarlett and began venturing out for short walks with the stroller.
On the way home from one of these walks, she passed Teddy, one of the club’s bouncers, on his way to work. They’d always been friendly when she saw him at the club. Jane gave him a wave, and he fell into step beside her. “You’re looking good, Jane. How’s Mom-life treating you?”
“I think I’m starting to get the hang of it.” She waved at Scarlett in the stroller, who was sleeping peacefully for once.
“She’s an angel,” Teddy said, which sounded so funny coming from a six-foot five former Division 1 offensive lineman that Jane had to laugh.
“Don’t let her fool you,” she said.
“Oh, I won’t.” He gave Jane a wink.
“What are you doing out here?” came a sharp voice behind them.
Jane whirled around to find Matteo standing in the doorway to the club, arms crossed over his chest, face red.
“Scarlett and I were coming home from a walk.”
“You’re home now,” Matteo barked, “so go inside.”
Jane felt her own face flush crimson. Why was he speaking to her in that tone? She glanced at Teddy, who just shrugged his enormous shoulders.
“ Now ,” Matteo ordered.
Jane hurried inside, leaving the stroller at the bottom of the stairs and carrying Scarlett up to the apartment. She’d just gotten the baby settled in her crib when she heard the front door open. The next thing she knew, she was flying across the room, her shoulder slamming into the bedroom doorframe and her face burning with pain.
Oh, my God.
He hit me.
Jane gasped, one hand flying to her cheek, the other grasping the door handle to keep herself upright as her head spun and nausea rolled over her.
“Don’t let me find you flirting with my staff ever again,” Matteo said in a low voice.
“I—” In her shock, Jane could barely form the words. He hit me. “I wasn’t?—”
“You weren’t what?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her so hard her teeth rattled.
“Stop!” Jane gasped. She wrenched free and made a break for the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.
Her whole body shaking, Jane fumbled in her pocket for her phone. Though the moment played on repeat in her head, Jane couldn’t quite believe it had happened.
He hit me.
She dialed 911. “Please help,” she whispered into the phone. “Please.”
Outside the bathroom, she heard Matteo curse under his breath. A moment later, the apartment door opened and then slammed shut.
Jane crept out of the bathroom to check on Scarlett, who was thankfully still sleeping.
Ten minutes later, two police officers arrived, both men—a fact that Jane became aware of when Matteo calmly brought them up to the apartment.
“She has postpartum depression,” Jane heard Matteo say. “She locked herself in the bathroom. Thank God she didn’t have the baby in there.”
The officers turned to peer at Jane like she was an exhibit in the zoo. “Are you okay, miss?” one of them asked her.
“No, my boyfriend…” Jane still couldn’t believe it. “He hit me.”
Matteo turned to the officers. “I had to give her a shove to get the baby away from her. She was acting really crazy, threatening to hurt herself or our daughter. I was worried about what she might do.”
One of the officers scribbled something in his notebook, and the other reached out to take Jane’s arm. “Ma’am…”
Jane wrenched away. “Don’t touch me.”
The officers exchanged looks. Matteo was lying. Couldn’t they see that?
“Should we take her in for a 5150?” one of them murmured to the other, under his breath.
“A what?” she gasped.
The officer hesitated. “Your boyfriend is worried about you. I wondered if maybe you wanted to talk to someone. A doctor. Psychiatrist.”
Jane’s gaze flew wildly from one officer to the other. How could this be happening when Matteo was the threat? Not her. “You can’t take me?—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Matteo cut in.
“He’s the one—” Jane tried to explain, but Matteo’s hand was suddenly gripping her shoulder.
“I’ve taken a couple of days off work,” Matteo said, smoothly. “I can keep an eye on her and the baby. I also put a call in to her doctor.” He tightened his grip. Don’t say another word. She didn’t, because nobody would believe her anyway.
That night, he brought flowers and her favorite Chinese food.
“I’m so sorry, Janie.” Matteo hung his head.
Hands shaking, heart pounding, Jane told him she forgave him. Because what else could she say?
A week later, Jane went to the park, where she sat on a bench and stared at Scarlett in the stroller. Matteo had been a perfect partner since the incident last week, taking the baby for a walk so Jane could nap, rubbing Jane’s shoulders after a particularly tiring night.
But the bruise was still bright purple on her cheek, and she could still feel her body flying into the doorway every time she walked past it. That morning, as she’d stared at her face in the mirror, all she could picture was Mom’s face. The haunted, defeated look in Mom’s eyes.
Jane adjusted the blanket over her sleeping baby . And then she fished her phone out of the stroller and googled How do I leave my abuser . She’d have to delete her search history later. Just in case.
The first few links that popped up were for domestic violence hotlines. Maybe she’d go back to those but, for now, she kept scrolling, and found a list of articles with headlines like “Why Victims Don’t Just Leave ” and “How to Get Out of an Abusive Relationship.”
Jane clicked on the second one and scanned the bullet points telling her that it wasn’t her fault and she didn’t deserve the abuse. It helped, marginally, to see that. But what she really needed was some concrete information. She kept reading until she found the section about how to leave. There was information about how to find a domestic violence shelter, when to go, how to pack. Next came a section about safety.
The article detailed something called a protection from abuse order, or PFA, that she could apply for. It would be signed by a judge and state that Matteo couldn’t contact her or come within a certain distance. But , the article warned, if your abuser is only given a citation and not taken to jail, it might embolden them to pursue you further.
And then Jane’s eyes focused on the next words: The time of leaving can be a very dangerous period for victims of abuse. Most women who are murdered by their abusers are killed after they leave, not before.
Jane shuddered and closed the article. There was no way she was going to be able to do this alone. She needed help. Before she could lose her nerve, she dialed the number for the domestic violence hotline. A woman picked up on the first ring.
“Um. Hi,” Jane said. “I…” She looked at Scarlett for courage. “I need help leaving an abusive situation.”
The woman was very kind, reassuring. She said all the right things. It’s not your fault. You’re doing the right thing.
“We can house you and your baby for up to six weeks,” the woman explained. “From there, we can help you arrange transitional housing.”
“What is that?”
“It could look like a lot of things. Do you have any family who might be able to take you in?”
Family. Jane remembered Mom telling her not to send any more photos. “No.”
“Well, sometimes a spot opens up in one of the group homes. Or we can help you find an apartment share with another woman in our program.”
Jane clutched the phone tighter. “How would I pay for that?”
“Do you have a job?”
Jane stared at Scarlett’s tiny nose. Her eyes closed so peacefully. “No, I have a two-month-old baby.”
“We can help you with training and applications to find a job.”
“But…” A heavy weight dropped in Jane’s stomach. “What about my baby? Who will take care of her while I work?”
“There are childcare vouchers you can apply for.” The woman paused, and Jane could hear her shuffling through a pile of papers. “There is a waitlist, though.”
The weight in Jane’s stomach grew heavier. “So, what do I do? How do I start?”
“Are you in danger right now?”
Jane looked around the playground. “No. Not… right this se cond.” She heard more shuffling on the other end of the phone.
“We don’t have any beds open right now, but we expect to in a couple of weeks. Can you call us back then?”
A couple of weeks?
Defeated, she hung up the phone and headed home. Outside the club, she spotted Teddy arriving for his shift.
“Hey,” he called to her. “I’m sorry if I got you in trouble the other…” Teddy trailed off as Jane averted her eyes and kept walking.
A week later, Jane was heading home from the dry cleaners, Matteo’s cleaned and pressed shirts draped over the handle of the stroller, when she passed a man sitting on a bench in front of a storefront. Something about him was familiar. As he leaned over to take a bite of his sandwich, his thinning blond comb-over flopped on his forehead. The man quickly reached up and smoothed it back into place. He looked up to find Jane watching.
“Do I know you?”
The sign in the window read Morgan and Morgan, Attorneys at Law.
“I interviewed for a job here once.” She hesitated. “Well, not really interviewed. You just told me to go home.”
The man swiped at his mouth with his napkin. “Tough break, kid. You ever find a job?”
She pushed Scarlett’s stroller back and forth to rock her. “Sort of.”
Mr. Morgan nodded and took another bite of his sandwich. A blob of mustard slid down his chin. While he wiped it away, Jane looked over his head to the younger version of his face on the sign. No comb-over yet. And then she focused on the words beneath the photo. Free consultations .
When women left their husbands on TV, they always hired kick-ass lawyers. Mr. Morgan was an ambulance chaser in a rundown strip mall. Jane had absolutely no faith that he was a kick-ass lawyer. But, in that moment, desperation and this man were literally all she had.
She took a quick glance down the sidewalk to make sure nobody was walking by who would overhear. “Can I ask you something? Can I get a—uh—consultation?”
“I’m kind of on my lunch break, here.” Mr. Morgan lifted the sandwich.
“That interview made me late for my job and I got fired.” You owe me.
Mr. Morgan sighed, stuffing the rest of his sandwich into the paper bag on his lap. “Fine. Do you want to sue your former employer for firing you?”
“No. I want to leave my boyfriend.”
“Well… just leave.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Scarlett fussed in her stroller, and Jane pushed it back and forth to soothe her until Scarlett stretched and fell back asleep.
“Ah. I get it.” He nodded at the baby. “I don’t do family law.”
“But you”—Jane waved a hand—“you took some classes in law school, right? You can give me some advice.” She looked at him beseechingly. “Please?”
Mr. Morgan sighed. “This is off the record.”
“We need to get away. It’s a… delicate… situation.” Jane reached up to rub her shoulder. It still felt sore when she slept on it a certain way. “He’s not going to want to let us go.”
Mr. Morgan’s eyes drifted over her. “There are shelters for this sort of thing.”
“They’re full. And once they have an opening, we can stay for six weeks, but then we need to find a place to go. I have a newborn so I’m not working.” She pushed Scarlett back and forth again. “Is there any way that he can be made to pay child support or… something?”
“Sure. You can go to court. The judge will likely take your situation into account and order him to pay. But what he’ll owe depends on the custody arrangement.”
“Custody?” Jane’s voice rose.
Mr. Morgan looked at her sideways. “If he’s the father, he can potentially ask for fifty-fifty.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “But… what if he’s dangerous? What if he’s hurting me?”
“Do you have a record of that? Hospital stays? Police reports?”
Jane only had the one 911 call. And she couldn’t imagine what the police report would say about her. “No.”
“Does he have any history of harming the baby?”
“ No. ” Thank God. But it kept her up at night. What would she do if he turned his rage on Scarlett?
“Well, there’s a very good chance he’ll get at least partial custody. Unless he doesn’t want it.”
Jane grasped at that tiny bit of hope. Maybe Matteo wouldn’t want custody. He was the fun dad who liked to play with Scarlett when she was dry, fed, and happy but as soon as she started crying, Matteo couldn’t hand her off to Jane fast enough. “What if he doesn’t want it? Can we get him to pay child support then?”
Mr. Morgan made a skeptical face. “You can ask. The judge will likely grant it. But that doesn’t mean the guy’s going to pay.” He shrugged. “I’d never count on a deadbeat dad paying child support.” His gaze swept over Jane. “But I wouldn’t count on an abuser to let his woman go without a fight, either.” He raised his eyebrows. “If you get my drift.”
Most women who are murdered by their abusers are killed after they leave, not before.
“So, what should I do?” Jane kept pushing the stroller back and forth, but her hands were shaking now. “If I were… your sister or something… what would you tell me to do?”
“I’d say get a job. Save as much money as you can. Document everything. And then as soon as you can, take your baby and get the hell out of LA.”
Jane blinked to keep the tears from welling up. Get a job? What was she supposed to do with Scarlett? Save money? Without Matteo knowing about it?
Jane slowly turned and gave the stroller another push, and this time, she followed it down the sidewalk.
“Sorry,” Mr. Morgan called.
Jane was sorry, too.