After Eight Forced Miscarriages, I Vanished Forever

Every one of the first eight pregnancies, Cecil Delgado beat me until I hemorrhaged. Every time, it was the manic episodes.

Afterward, he'd kneel in my blood, slapping himself across the face, driving a knife into his own thigh, begging me to forgive him.

I pitied him. I buried the grief of losing child after child and stayed to help him through treatment.

Then came the ninth pregnancy. Cecil didn't go mad.

He peeled an orange, lit a cigarette, and spoke like he was discussing the weather.

"Eight rounds of faking it. I'd say that's enough."

He watched my face go rigid, and smiled.