Dawn of Eve, MJ Howson [lightweight ebook reader TXT] 📗

her glass. “I just can’t stop thinking about Eve. Every morning I stop in the nursery and stare at that empty crib. Sometimes I sit in the rocker holding her blanket, imagining she was in my arms nuzzled against my chest.”

“You need to let go, Dawn.”

“I built that room for Eve.” Dawn lowered her head as tears welled in her eyes. Her voice cracked as she said, “I can’t stop thinking about her.” She stared into her drink, lost in her thoughts. “My whole life I’ve wanted to be a mother. I abandoned that dream years ago.” She looked up into Jacob’s eyes. “And then we made Eve. I was so sure this time was different.”

“Come over here.” Jacob put his arm around Dawn and pulled her close, burying his nose against the top of her head. “I know how hard this has been. I wish I could just wave a magic wand and make this pain go away.” He glanced out the windows at the sparkling skyline and briefly closed his eyes. “To go back to the way things used to be.”

“Me too.” Dawn sat up and brushed her fingers through Jacob’s gelled hair, and nodded. “It’s only been a month, right? Maybe . . . maybe I just need more time.”

“What were the other times like?”

“Other times?” Dawn recoiled and lowered her head. “Do you mean the other . . . other . . . .”

“Miscarriages. Were you this depressed after those?”

“Sure, but . . . but not like this. I don’t know why this time’s so different.” Dawn ran her hand across her stomach. “Maybe it’s because I was so sure Eve was the one.”

Jacob grabbed some cocktail napkins and gave them to Dawn. She smiled and dabbed her watery eyes.

“Have you thought of seeking help?” Jacob asked.

“You mean my doctor at the clinic?”

“Not that kind of help.”

Dawn furrowed her brow, frowned, and asked, “Do you think I need mental help?”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“Really?” Dawn shook her head and took another sip of her wine. “There’s nothing therapeutic about talk therapy. My mother tried that. Did I ever tell you?”

“You never talk about your family.”

“Therapy was a waste of her time. Why should I bother trying? I can’t believe you suggested it.”

“Hey.” Jacob pulled Dawn close and nuzzled his nose against her ear, gently kissing her cheek. “All I’m trying to do is help, Dawn.”

“I know.”

“You aren’t getting better. You aren’t eating. You’re losing weight.”

“I’m sure my appetite will come back at some point.”

Jacob leaned closer and asked, “What about your dreams?”

“What . . . what about them?”

“Do you still wake up screaming?”

“Sometimes.” Dawn turned away and lowered her shoulders and head. “I keep hoping they’ll stop.”

“We’ve been at this for weeks, Dawn. Every day it’s the same thing.” Jacob shook his head and sighed. “I love you. You know I do. But I don’t know what to say or do to help you get better.”

“Neither do I.”

“Losing a baby is traumatic. You’ve lost five.” Jacob wiped Dawn’s cheeks dry and gently kissed her lips. “Would you at least consider seeing someone? For me?”

“Therapy?” Dawn placed her hands on Jacob’s face and ran her thumb across his stubbled chin. She smiled and kissed him deeply on the lips. “I’ll think about it, Jacob. For you.”

∞∞∞

Dawn stood in front of the closed door to her art studio, staring at her hand resting on the handle. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t summon the strength to open the door and step inside. Jacob was right. Painting and inspiration came hand in hand. Neither interested her lately.

With a heavy sigh, Dawn lowered her hand and said. “Evelyn, secure the apartment.”

“Securing the apartment,” the system replied.

The locks on the front door snapped shut. The motorized curtains in the living and dining room whirred as they slid closed, concealing the outside world. The fireplace slowly dimmed until only a faint hint of light emanated from beneath the glass crystals.

Dawn took the private elevator to the owner’s suite on the top floor. Once inside, she stopped beside her bed and dropped to her knees. Dawn shoved her arms beneath her bed. “Where is it?” After a bit of fumbling, she said, “There you are.”

A cedar-lined wooden jewelry box sat deep within the shadows beneath the bed. The cherry box’s ornate curves and carvings were scratched and worn from decades of use. Dawn had inherited it from her grandmother when she was twenty-one. She bit her upper lip as she ran her fingers across the front and opened the lid. The only item inside was a small plastic bottle labeled Clomiphene–her fertility pills. Her mind immediately filled with the image of Jacob emerging from beneath her sheets, his hands covered in blood. Tears soon fell across her cheeks. Dawn slammed the lid closed, flung the box back beneath the bed, and hurried to the bathroom.

A bottle of melatonin sat beside the sink. Dawn opened the bottle and dropped a ten-milligram pill into the palm of her hand. She looked at her pale reflection in the mirror and thought back to Jacob telling her how thin she looked. She sighed, popped the pill, and went back into her bedroom.

The full-length mirror across the room caught her attention. Dawn took a small satin throw pillow from her bed and slid it inside her robe against her stomach. She twisted from side to side, admiring her faux-pregnant look.

“Someday.” Dawn sighed and let the pillow fall to the floor. “Someday, I’m going to make the best mother.”

Dawn tossed her robe onto the end of the bed and crawled beneath the sheets. She said, “Evelyn, turn off all the lights.”

“Turning off all the lights.”

Downstairs, the lights slowly dimmed, as did the ones in Dawn’s bedroom, until everything faded to black. Dawn rolled onto her back and stared at the time projected on the ceiling–10:04 p.m.

The stress and tears she’d felt all day accelerated her drowsiness. As Dawn felt herself drifting away, all she could do was hope