In this scene, a new one I added early in the novel to give additional background, Melinda has returned from the first pregnancy loss group meeting and is cooking dinner for her husband Jake. I think the scene otherwise stands on its own although reading the first chapter might help you acclimate.

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Melinda sliced the potato in wild whacks, lifting the butcher knife high overhead and slamming it down against the marble cutting board. The effort felt good, so she raised the knife again, not even fearing the safety of her other hand as the metal whizzed through the air and connected with the vegetable.

Jake opened the door leading to the garage and passed through, blowing into his palms. “Chilly for this time of year,” he said.

“It’s not yet spring,” Melinda said, slicing calmly now that she had an audience. “Easter is a few weeks off still.”

“I know where I can warm my hands,” he said, coming up behind her and sliding his hands across her belly.

Melinda stiffened but disguised it with another hard cut against the board. “You haven’t asked about my meeting.”

Jake released her and leaned against the cabinet, crossing his arms across his broad chest. “Well, how’d it go?”

“I saw that teenager again. The one that was in the hospital the night…the same night we were.”

“Really? She lose her baby too?”

“Yes. Premature labor. He lived three hours.”

“Tough break.” Jake plucked an apple from the bowl on the cabinet and bit it. “Hopefully she’ll take better care of herself next time.”

Melinda set the knife down with a clatter. “Don’t say that. When you suggest Tina lost her baby through her own fault, then it means our baby died because of something I did.”

He tossed the half eaten apple in the sink. “Hey, I’m sorry. You know I don’t mean that. I know you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You seemed to think so that night.”

He embraced her again and this time she didn’t hide her reaction–the stiffening and recoil.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I lost my head. I was upset.”

“If I can’t count on you when things are tough, what good are you?”

Jake let out a long exhale. “Whew, Melinda. I don’t know. That’s quite a thing to say.”

She turned back to the cutting board and pushed the potatoes around with her hand.

“Hey. I know what always used to help. Come on.” He took her hand, then picked up a dish towel and wiped it clean before threading her fingers through his.

He led her out of the kitchen, past the formal dining room in its crystal coldness, across the formal living room in its modern black and silver gleam, and through the tiled foyer to the stairs.

She knew where he was headed. You can do this, she thought. It’s just sex. Just an act. You always liked it before.

But every sentence of her pep talk burst into rebuttal. You’re not on birth control. He might refuse the condom; he hates them so. What if you get pregnant again?

She couldn’t manage it if she did. The wounds were too fresh. Even though the doctor had told her she could have sex as soon as she wanted, she didn’t feel ready. She’d held Jake off since the surgery, but now he obviously felt the sexual disconnect was the root of their marriage problems.

He left the bedroom lights off but their passing kicked on the bathroom motion sensor. The white tile gleamed and the open door threw a rectangular glow across the bed.

Melinda’s pulse throbbed in her throat. She could barely swallow. Relax. Come on. You can do this. He’s your husband.

Jake sat on the bed and pulled her close to him. “See, this is all we need. I know you’ve been through a lot. I’ll be so careful. It will help.”

He kissed her neck and pushed aside the collar of her blouse. She faked it, pretending to relax into him. He worked loose her clothes and pulled her onto the bed. She thought of other things–the cherry crib on the floor of the nursery, the potatoes still downstairs, plans for dinner. She only re-engaged when he was naked and lying over her.

“Don’t forget the condom, please. There’s still a little risk for infection until I’ve had a period.”

It was not an out and out lie, actually, but an exaggeration of something she’d read. Jake stroked her hair and for once, thankfully, didn’t argue but reached into the drawer of the nightstand.

The condoms were lubricated, a secondary benefit, as she worried he’d be able to sense her reluctance if she were too tight and dry. He was mercifully quick since it had been so long, and as soon as he pulled away, she rolled off the bed and headed to the bathroom.

The light had gone out but as she neared, it kicked on again. The sudden burst felt like a flash bulb close to the face. She blinked and her stomach lurched. The white tile blasted its reflection and when she opened her eyes, she saw the trail of blood from her bare feet to the toilet, red and wet, smeared from her frantic crawl across the floor.

She bit her hand, afraid to let Jake know she was afraid, that she was losing it so hard. He couldn’t bear her weakness and would try to argue it out of her–use logic and fear tactics to bully her into admitting it had been a ploy or some confusion. He’d want her to laugh it off.

She blinked again and again but the blood remained. She knew the cleaning service had bleached the grout weeks ago and restored the pristine pearl, but still this vision of it would not go away. She stared at it, her scarlet insanity, until all she could do was turn away and crawl back to her husband.