Page 2 of Insatiable

Pathetic. That’s what he thought of me. “I’m pathetic?” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. “I’m carrying your child, Phoenix.”

He stepped closer, his voice low and cold. “I expected you to keep it together. Women get pregnant all the time. Most take care of themselves. But you… you just let yourself go.”

The audacity of that son of a bitch!I had tried so hard to be the wife he wanted, to keep up, even when it felt impossible. But it was never enough. Nothing I did ever mattered.

I stared at him, my vision blurring with tears. “You disgust me.”

He shrugged, not even flinching. His indifference stung more than anything else. “If you're gonna get emotional, we’re done here.”

That’s when it happened. Pain hit me, sharp and sudden, slicing through my abdomen. His phone slipped from my hand and fell onto the carpet. I gasped and clutched my stomach. My knees buckled as I collapsed to the floor.

I felt the blood before I saw it. Warm and wet, it spread through my clothes and pooled beneath me, thick and dark.

“Phoenix...” I reached for him, my voice shaking with panic. He didn’t move. He just stared down at me, like I was nothing more than a problem he didn’t want to deal with.

“I’ll call an ambulance.” His tone was flat. He picked up his phone, where I had dropped it, like this was just another task on his list.

That was the last thing I remembered before everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, I was in the hospital. Phoenix had apparently left after admitting me and filling out the forms. I didn’t know how long I had been there. But when they told me I lost the baby, I broke. I cried until I couldn’t anymore. The nurses and doctors were the only ones there to comfort me.

I stayed there for two days. On the second day, a nurse came in with a sealed envelope. Divorce papers. Phoenix had sent them over without a word. No visit. No explanation. Just papers. He was done. He walked away like none of it mattered, like the baby had never existed.

Phoenix shattered my heart. I wanted so badly to forget the pain, to move on, but my heart wouldn’t let me. It clung to the memories, even when I begged it to let go. But I couldn’t.

I watched the milk drip slowly into the bottles, like the tears quietly falling. When the bottles were full and I felt empty, I removed the pump and packed the bottles into the cooler. It wasn’t for my baby. It was for someone else’s—a child without a face or name. The only thing I had left to give.

My phone alarm went off, and I quickly silenced it. In the bathroom, I caught my reflection in the mirror: pale skin, darkcircles under my eyes. My body didn’t feel like mine anymore. It felt empty. Broken. But as they say, life must go on. I had to keep moving.

I stepped into the shower, and the hot water hit my skin, almost burning. I guess I liked it. The pain. At least it numbed the heartache for a while. Afterward, I dried my dark hair, tied it back, and wrapped a scarf around it to pull it into a bun.

I slipped into a plum dress that used to fit perfectly, but now it was tight around my chest, stomach, and hips. It clung in all the wrong places. But I wore it anyway—I didn’t have the money for a new wardrobe. Everything still felt wrong, like I didn’t fit in my own skin anymore. But I pushed through it. I didn’t have much of a choice.

I grabbed the cooler and stepped out of the apartment. Taking the stairs, I headed to the parking lot. My old second-hand Honda Civic sat there, a faded blue with a dent in the bumper. It was all I could afford after Phoenix. He had stripped me of everything—my savings, my independence. Before getting married, I used to run a flower shop, The Rose Garden, but I gave it up for him and for the life he wanted. Now, I was left trying to rebuild from the ashes.

The milk bank was on my way to the flower shop. I parked and got out. Inside, everything was spotless and organized. The director greeted me at the door, her smile kind but with that look—like she knew more than she let on.

“Rose, good to see you,” she said softly. “You’re helping more than you know.”

I forced a smile, handing over the cooler. “This week’s milk.”

Her hands brushed mine as she took the cooler. Her grip was light but steady, as if she knew I needed something to hold onto. “Thank you. Really.”

I nodded and lingered for a moment. A warmth bloomed inside me, knowing this milk would help someone, somewhere. It was a quiet comfort, a reminder that, despite everything, I was still making a difference.

After a few moments, I turned and left. The door swung shut behind me as I steppedinto the gray day. The streets were wet from the rain, slick underfoot as I made my way to my car and drove towards my flower shop.

The shop wasn’t much, but it was mine again. I parked outside, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. The bell jingled, echoing in the small space. The air smelled of roses, gardenias, and fresh-cut stems. The bright colors clashed with the heaviness inside me.

I flicked on the lights, the fluorescents buzzing to life. As I walked past the displays, my fingers grazed the soft petals, their velvety texture grounding me. It was here, in this shop, that I had met Phoenix for the first time.

I smiled at the memory, but there was bitterness in it. He had walked in on a sunny afternoon, wearing a business suit. He didn’t belong among the pastel colors and sweet scents. I still remember his sheepish smile when he asked for a bouquet for a “first date, nothing too serious.”

I laughed, finding him sweet and even charming. He bought a small bunch of daisies and asked me out a week later. I got swept up in him, thinking it was all smiles, laughter, and the promise of something easy. I should’ve known better.

I sighed, pushing the memories aside, and grabbed my apron from the hook. The worn fabric felt familiar against my fingers. Tying it behind my back, I forced myself into the routine. Arranging bouquets came naturally now. I snipped stems, adjusted vases, and sprayed the leaves with mist, the cool droplets on my skin. But no matter how busy I kept, my thoughts still wandered to Phoenix, the one who had taken the last bit of happiness I had left.

Customers came and went, their faces blurring together as they picked through arrangements. The shop was busy, but I couldn’t shake the emptiness. Each sale felt like going through the motions—smiling when they handed me cash, nodding when they commented on the flowers—but inside I felt like I was just… surviving.

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