“Eric,” I said carefully, “I need you to pull over.”
He didn’t look at me. “You’re fine.”
A second cramp came before I could answer, stronger than the first, spreading upward in a way that made my breath catch. “No. Something doesn’t feel right. Please, just stop for a minute.”
He exhaled through his nose in that sharp, dismissive way that I had stopped noticing years ago and had only recently begun to hear again. “I’m already running late, Claire.”
“I understand that. I’m asking you to stop the car.”
He swerved abruptly onto a side street without slowing down first, braked hard enough that I had to brace against the dashboard, and then turned toward me with a face so cold it barely seemed like the face of someone I had chosen and lived with and shared a bed with for three years. There was no concern in it. There was annoyance, and something harder underneath.
