The Halloween She Lost Everything

PROLOGUE

On Halloween night, Cameron s childhood friend from the lake house, Ivy Paige, killed the lights in the building s hallway.

Dressed as some kind of glitch ghost from an indie horror game, she cornered me in the elevator.

When I woke up at St. Jude s, the baby I d fought to keep with a hundred IVF hormone injections& was gone.

I d called Cameron to come sign the surgical consent forms.

His response, barked impatiently over the phone, was a gut punch.

I m busy. Stop bothering me with every little thing.

But later, after the surgery, I saw the picture Ivy posted from the company s yacht party fireworks exploding over the water.

The caption read: The fireworks are beautiful, but they re even better with someone special to share them with.

And there was Cameron, right beside her, his arm around her shoulders, a wide, easy smile on his face.

Looking at that smile, a cold certainty settled in my heart.

This marriage was over.

01

The baby, my little Haven, had been with me for just over three months.

Even through the fog of anesthesia, I could feel the physical, aching void where she used to be. The space she had occupied was now just a hollow ache, a cruel emptiness that radiated from my core. The nurses who checked on me would glance at the galaxy of purple and blue bruises mottling my abdomen, their expressions a mixture of pity and awe.

All those hormone shots& your stomach is completely bruised, one murmured, shaking her head. This baby was clearly hard-won. What a terrible shame.

When they wheeled me out of the OR, my eyes fixed on the small, sterile container on the tray. A tiny, formless mass. My daughter. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. She could have grown into a beautiful, vibrant little girl. She could have had Cameron s eyes, or my laugh. Now, she was just a medical specimen on a cold steel tray.

By ten-thirty that night, the maternity ward was a quiet shuffle of activity. Husbands came and went, whispering to their wives, asking what they might want to eat, bringing them magazines or extra pillows. Every quiet murmur of affection was a fresh stab in my heart. Only I was alone.

I lay with my eyes closed for what felt like an eternity, summoning the strength to call Cameron again. My fingers felt like lead as I scrolled to his name. My thumb hovered over the call button, a wave of nausea washing over me. I needed him. Despite everything, a primal part of me screamed for my husband.

He finally answered on the fourth try.

His voice was a blast of irritation, cutting through the festive noise in the background. Phoebe, what is it now? Ivy invited you to the yacht party, you didn t want to come. What s with the emergency calls?

The cacophony of laughter and music on his end of the line felt like shards of glass in the sterile silence of my room. I could picture it perfectly: the glittering lights of Port Harding across the water, the clinking of champagne glasses, the warmth of bodies pressed close together on the deck.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, my voice trembling. Can you& can you please come to the hospital? The baby

A loud crackle and boom of fireworks drowned out my words, the sound vibrating through the phone. A cheer went up from the partygoers. Cameron s voice was sharp with annoyance when he spoke again. Don t bother me with every little thing, Phoebe. It s my one day off, for God s sake.

He was right. Since the start of the pregnancy, my life had become a series of endless trips to the hospital. He d grown tired of it long ago.

I could hear Ivy s delighted laugh in the background, closer now. Cam, darling, look! That one looks just like the constellation we used to find over the lake! Remember?

Cameron s voice was muffled, further from the phone, but I heard his reply. It does, doesn t it? The casual intimacy in his tone was more painful than any insult.

Stop calling, he said, his voice returning, sharp and final. I ll come to the hospital when I have time.

The line went dead. The silence he left behind was heavier, more suffocating, than before. He wouldn't even let me tell him.

02

As the anesthesia finally released its hold, a raw, gouging ache hollowed out my abdomen. Every breath was a fresh stab of pain, a physical reminder of the emptiness. Then, the lights in the room clicked off. The other patients were settling in for the night.

My body went rigid. The darkness pressed in on me, vast and suffocating, and I couldn't breathe. The same tearing, suffocating terror from the elevator clawed its way back up my throat. I m terrified of the dark. At home, I sleep with a lamp on. Cameron knew this.

A flash of a white coat passing my doorway sent a jolt of panic through me, the image merging with Ivy s ghost costume. Cold sweat prickled on my palms.

Hours earlier, Ivy had come up to our apartment to get me for the party. She was Cameron s secretary, in charge of his entire schedule, his entire life. But when I was ready to go, she was nowhere to be found. I went down to the elevator alone.

The moment I stepped inside, the world went black. The lights in the car, in the hallway, everywhere dead. In the eerie emergency lighting, a figure in a white robe, hair hanging long and black to obscure its face, crawled toward me with jerky, unnatural movements.

I screamed, scrambling into the corner of the elevator car. That feeling of absolute, suffocating despair returned, prying open a sealed part of my memory. The moment the white-robed figure lifted its face a grotesque mask of a "glitch" ghost, half its face a mess of bloody pixels I used every ounce of strength I had to shove past it and bolt out of the elevator. I ran, blindly, toward the sliver of light from the stairwell window at the end of the hall.

I have claustrophobia. I can t be trapped in dark, enclosed spaces alone.

Behind me, Ivy s voice, now normal and mocking, called out, Jeez, Phoebe, can t you take a joke? Well, if you re not coming, I m heading out!

By the time I reached the light, a warm, thick wetness was spreading down my inner thighs. I looked down. A river of scarlet was pooling on the polished floor.

A passing nurse saw me trembling on the bed and quickly switched the lights back on. Just as I was being moved to a private room, a message from Ivy lit up my phone.

Phoebe, Cam and I just watched the most amazing found-footage horror movie. He was on the edge of his seat the whole time!

Too bad you re scared of a simple ghost costume. You ve never been able to share that with him.

Below the text were a series of photos. Ivy and Cameron, wrapped in a blanket on the yacht s deck, his arms around her. They looked like any other couple in love.

But the last photo was different. It was older, the pixel quality grainy. In it, Ivy was stepping off a jet bridge, clutching a bouquet of flowers, her face buried in Cameron s chest as she beamed with joy. Cameron held her tightly, a look of pure, unadulterated happiness on his face.

The timestamp in the bottom right corner read four years ago. Today s date.

A nerve in my brain fired, a jolt of ice in my veins. I zoomed in on the image, my hand shaking. Four years ago. Cameron had told me that on this exact day, he was in agony, going through hell, convinced he was about to die.

It was all a lie.

Suddenly, the thought of ever seeing his face again made me physically ill. I typed a reply to Ivy. Just try not to piss your pants next time. Then I threw the phone onto the bedside table.

03

Sleep was impossible. The image of Cameron s smiling face at the airport was burned into my mind. The morning light filtering through the blinds felt harsh and accusatory. With the cold clarity of grief, I made a decision. I was filing for divorce.

The nurse from the previous night came in to check my vitals. She had kind eyes. Seeing my lonely state, the untouched breakfast tray, she took pity on me. "Is there anything I can get for you, honey?" she asked.

"Actually," I said, my voice raspy, "could you possibly print something for me? From the hospital's business center?"

She agreed without hesitation. I emailed her the link to the standard Oregon state divorce petition.

Just as she left, Cameron s call came through. His timing was, as always, impeccable. He asked why I wasn t at home last night. There was no concern in his voice, only accusation.

Did you overreact again? A little scare and you have to check yourself into the hospital?

I took a breath, letting the cold rage solidify inside me. My voice was clear and steady when I answered. Let s get a divorce.

A divorce? he repeated, his tone shifting from annoyance to genuine surprise. It was a sound I hadn't heard from him in years the sound of him being caught off guard.

A moment later, his usual impatience returned, a shield against any real emotion. I ll come by the hospital after my meetings. Stop trying to threaten me like this, Phoebe. It's childish.

He hung up before I could reply.

But he never came. Not that morning, not that afternoon. The hours ticked by, marked only by the changing shifts of the nursing staff and the relentless ache in my belly. He didn't call. He didn't text.

His absence was a physical presence in the room, a confirmation of everything I now knew to be true. He didn't care. It was that simple. He just didn't care.

04

Cameron s face went pale. He snatched the medical chart from the foot of my bed, his eyes scanning the doctor s notes frantically, as if trying to will my words away.

That s not possible& We ve done so many tests, the doctor said everything was stable. How could the baby just be& gone?

He couldn't decipher the doctor s handwriting, so he grabbed the arm of a nurse who was coming in to change my IV drip.

What does this say? The baby s still okay, right?

The nurse pulled her arm away, her expression cold and professional.

Mr. Holden, your wife suffered a severe shock, which resulted in a miscarriage.

She gestured toward my bruised abdomen. She s also undergone two D&C procedures and was at risk of bleeding out on the operating table.

If you have any decency left, the nurse finished, her voice sharp, you ll let her rest.

Cameron s eyes finally fell to my stomach, truly seeing it for the first time. The flat, empty plane, marred by the ugly purple bruises.

A severe shock& he murmured, the words hollow.

Ivy, her eyes wide with a performance of pure innocence, began to defend herself.

Last night& I went upstairs to get Phoebe for the party. Since it was Halloween, I just& I thought it was funny to mess with her hair and act like a ghost.

I honestly had no idea she was so timid, she sobbed. I didn t know she d be scared of something so silly.

Just messing with her hair?

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. You killed the lights in the entire hallway. You dressed up as that bloody glitch ghost and trapped me in the elevator.

Ivy clutched Cameron s arm, her voice rising in a desperate plea.

Everyone was playing pranks for Halloween, Cam! It wasn t malicious!

Besides, she added, a clever twist of the knife, I never even touched her. She was the one who bolted out of the elevator. She was running so fast, she practically knocked me over.

The implication was clear. I had run too hard. I had lost the baby myself.

I turned my gaze to Cameron, my voice flat and devoid of emotion.

She was wearing a white dress, and her costume was a mangled face, half of it looking like it had been chewed off. Does that sound familiar to you, Cameron?

He had sworn to me. He had sworn that what happened in that container, our secret, would never be told to a third person.

When she had me trapped in there, I almost couldn't breathe. I almost died in that elevator. Did you know that?

His expression shifted from confusion to dawning horror. The medical chart in his hands crumpled as his fist tightened.

05

I stared at the blank line on the consent form: EMERGENCY CONTACT. The two words seemed to mock me. I had moved halfway across the country for Cameron, leaving my friends, my family, my entire world behind to build his in Port Harding. He was, by law and by vow, my emergency contact. But he was also the emergency.

The doctor, a woman with tired, compassionate eyes, seemed to understand my hesitation. Having a fight? she asked gently. It s okay. We see it all the time. Let me make the call for you. Sometimes it s better coming from us.

With a sense of detached horror, I watched as a kind-hearted nurse took my phone and dialed his number, putting it on speaker for the doctor to talk. My own phone, being used to beg my husband to care if I lived or died.

Mr. Holden? This is St. Jude s Hospital. Your wife, Phoebe Dunn, is scheduled for a procedure tomorrow morning. We need a family member present to sign the consent forms.

There was a pause on the other end. I could hear the faint sound of traffic. He was in his car. With her.

Then Cameron s voice, dripping with a mixture of scorn and disbelief, came through the speaker. Tell Phoebe to cut the theatrics. I don t respond to this kind of manipulative bullshit.

The nurse s jaw tightened. The doctor s eyes widened in shock. What manipulative ? Sir, she s had a miscarriage and there are complications

The doctor didn t get to finish her sentence. He had already hung up.

The silence in the room was absolute. Even the medical equipment seemed to have stopped its beeping. The nurse looked at me, her face a mask of pity and outrage.

A bitter smile touched my lips. Of course. This was just another one of my games. Another "little thing" to bother him with.

I held out my hand. The pen, please.

My hand was steady as I signed the liability waiver myself. On the emergency contact line, I wrote my own name. I would be my own emergency contact. From now on, I was the only person I could rely on. The thought was terrifying, but it was also liberating. The last chain holding me to him had just been shattered.

06

When the last effects of the anesthesia wore off from the second D&C, Cameron finally walked into my room. And of course, Ivy was trailing right behind him, like a designer shadow.

Her eyes flicked to my flat stomach for a fraction of a second a tiny, satisfied glance before she put on a bright, concerned smile. She held out a large, beautifully wrapped box from a high-end department store.

Phoebe, I hope you re feeling better, she cooed. I know pregnancy can be so hard on the body the swelling, the bad skin, all of it.

She leaned in closer, a deliberate display of her own flawless, meticulously applied makeup. A cloud of expensive perfume enveloped me, making my stomach turn. So I got you a top-of-the-line skincare set. All-natural, totally safe.

Cameron might not say it, she added, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, but I know he wants you to look your best.

It was true. Between the fertility treatments and the pregnancy itself, I hadn't worn makeup in months. The IVF hormone injections had made me puffy and bloated. There was a time I would have been terrified of Cameron finding me unattractive, a time I would have spent hours trying to live up to the impossible standard set by women like Ivy.

Now, I didn't care. That part of me was dead, scraped out along with my daughter.

I swept the expensive box off my bedside table. It clattered to the floor, the perfect bow crushing under the weight. Then, I reached under my pillow for the papers the nurse had printed for me. The edges were slightly crumpled, but the words were clear as day. PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.

Phoebe& if you didn t like the gift, you could have just said so. Why do you have to treat me like this? Ivy s voice cracked, and she sagged against Cameron s side, her shoulders shaking with manufactured sobs. It was a masterful performance.

Cameron s face hardened. He never tolerated me being anything less than pleasant to Ivy. What the hell is your problem, Phoebe? he roared, his voice bouncing off the sterile walls.

I ignored him. I ignored Ivy s crocodile tears. My focus was singular.

I held out the two copies of the divorce papers. My voice was quiet, but it cut through his anger like a shard of ice.

Sign it, Cameron. We re done.

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