This is the worst day of your life.
How could this happen to you?
What did you do wrong?
They were supposed to bring you happiness—your one light in this dark, twisted world. And now... they're gone.
You're hunched over the kitchen sink, hands covering your face. It's been a week, but the pain still pulses through you like it happened yesterday. You were going to be a mother. A good one. Maybe even a great one. But nothing good lasts when you're with the Joker. Not love. Not peace. Not even life.
The front door clicks shut behind you. You don't have to look to know it's him.
"You okay, doll?" His voice carries a softness that only makes it worse.
You sigh, dragging your hands down your face before turning your head slightly. "Do I look okay, J?"
He stares at you, expression unreadable. You can see him weighing his next words, trying to tread carefully. He knows you're breaking.
"I just asked a question, alright? I'll be in my office if you need me," he says, already walking away.
That's when it hits you. That familiar heat bubbling in your chest, the fury you've kept buried, the truth you've avoided.
This is his fault.
He stressed you out. He made you feel unsafe. He tore your mind apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but panic—and pain.
"Why do you always have to be such a fucking coward and run away from your problems?" you say quietly, but your voice cuts like glass.
He freezes in place.
"What the fuck do you mean?" he asks, not even turning to face you.
"You know exactly what I mean," you spit. "You're the reason I had a miscarriage."
He turns slowly, finally meeting your eyes. And then he laughs. A low, mocking scoff that sends your blood boiling.
"I'm the reason?" he repeats. "No, baby. You're the reason you had a miscarriage. You worried too fucking much."
Your vision blurs with fresh tears. "Because of you! Can't you see that?"
"I see a little girl crying over something she could never handle. And to be honest?" He steps closer, eyes wild. "It was for the best. You can't even take care of yourself—how the fuck were you gonna take care of a kid?"
Your heart cracks, rage bleeding out. "You know what, J? Fuck you."
Tears stream down your face as you snap. "Fuck you! Fuck this house! Fuck this money! Fuck all of it!"
You storm around the kitchen, grabbing whatever your hands can find and hurling it. Plates shatter. Glass breaks. You scream because it's the only thing that drowns out the grief.
"You better calm the fuck down, little girl," he growls through clenched teeth. "You're acting crazy."
"Oh, you don't like it when I act like this? When I throw shit around? But it's okay when you do it?" You pace like a storm trapped in a cage. "Fuck that. You don't get to play victim now."
He slams his palm on the counter so hard it makes you jump. "You better watch who you're talking to. You're on thin fucking ice. I came in here trying to be nice, trying to check on you—and this is what I get? A crazy bitch going off on me?"
"Because I have a reason, J!" you scream, chest heaving. "I lost our baby because you pushed me too far. You made me worry every goddamn day. And now you're calling me crazy?"
Silence falls like a weight.
You meet his eyes, shaking from anger, from sorrow, from everything. "You know what?" you whisper with a bitter laugh. "I'm actually glad I had a miscarriage. Because you would've been a terrible father. Maybe that's why it happened—maybe the universe knew better than to let someone like you raise a child."
He goes still.
His eyes darken. The kind of look that makes your stomach drop. He walks toward you slowly, deliberately. You back up until your spine hits the wall, heart pounding. His face is inches from yours now, and you suddenly regret it. Every word. Every breath.
"I'm going to leave," he says, voice low and deadly, "before I do something I won't regret."
Then he's gone. The door slams so hard the walls shake.
You're alone. Surrounded by broken glass, broken dreams, and the echo of everything you can't take back.
You know there'll be blood on his hands tonight.
And it'll be your fault.
