He Gave His Assistant My Seat—Then Sent Me Bleeding Into a Blizzard

The weekend before Valentine's Day, my husband suggested a game on our friends' road trip. "Let's draw names for the front seat," Julian said. "Let Chloe go first. She's not as tough as Emma." His assistant, Chloe, unfolded the winning slip with a delighted little gasp. Within minutes she was curled up in the passenger seat beneath the blanket I'd bought, sipping warm water from my husband's travel mug. "Sorry, Emma," she called over her shoulder. "I guess you're stuck in the back." Julian didn't even turn around. "We agreed on the rules. Don't embarrass us by complaining." When Chloe offered to switch, he stopped her. "You get carsick. Emma can manage a little discomfort." I sat in the cramped back seat, one hand closed around the folded ultrasound report in my coat pocket. I had just learned I was pregnant. I'd planned to tell him at the cabin. At the highway rest stop, Chloe accidentally hit the dashboard camera's playback button. Julian's recorded voice filled the car. "Mark the winning slip and make sure Chloe draws first. She can't handle the back seat. I need to look after her." Outside, snow drifted past the windows. There had never been a fair drawing. My place had been assigned to someone else before the game began. I pulled out my suitcase and headed for the rest-stop building. Snow swallowed the sound of the wheels. Julian caught the handle. "Emma, stop making a scene. Get back in the car." "I'm done riding with you." "Our friends are watching." Chloe climbed out, wrapped in my blanket. "It's my fault, isn't it? Emma, you can have the front." Julian immediately moved to shield her from the wind. "Get inside, Chloe. You'll get sick." A sign at the exit announced that the mountain road had closed for a blizzard. I had nowhere to go. So I got back into the rear seat. Chloe laughed with Julian up front. The vanilla air freshener made me nauseous. Each pothole sent pain through my lower abdomen. He noticed my pale face in the mirror only long enough to tell me to sit up straight. Two hours later, we reached a small mountain lodge. Julian opened Chloe's door and helped her onto the icy driveway. I struggled with mine until Mark, one of our friends, came over. The lodge owner apologized: the storm had stranded dozens of guests. Only one heated room with a private bathroom remained. The others would have to use temporary beds along the back corridor. Chloe doubled over, clutching her stomach. "It's okay. I'll take whatever's left." Julian put his arm around her. "Emma, let her have the good room. Her stomach's acting up. I'll make it up to you." He'd been promising to make things up to me for years. I took the key to a windowless storage room. It smelled of mildew. There was no heat. In the trash beside the bed, I dropped a tissue streaked dark red. Half an hour later, Julian knocked with a cup of ginger tea. "Emma? Open up. I know you're stubborn. I made this for you." I sat on the cold bed with my hand pressed to my belly, listening until his footsteps faded.