"A blunt trauma to your stomach did it." Slyvia carried out, but for Joyce her voice was in the background. "There was nothing that could have been done even if you had been brought to the hospital immediately. Your pregnancy was two weeks old at best."
Two weeks.
A quick mental calculation told her when the doctor was talking about. The time that they had been in Edinburgh was where the child had been conceived.
Leon had kicked her.
Leon had KICKED her.
The pain had not been the bruising in the abdomen that she had thought of earlier or maybe a crack in her pelvis, no. It had been something completely different. Which meant that when she had thought of peeing herself, that was the blood of her miscarriage.
"Sweetie," Daphne sat on the edge of the bed, "what are you thinking about? How are you feeling?"
Joyce tuned her out.
