The Things We Lost in the Rain

Snow fell like dust over the Hudson that night, whitening the city skyline until it looked like a memory. Inside the penthouse ballroom of the Manhattan Grand, laughter sparkled with the clink of champagne glasses. It was the tenth-year high school reunion of Roosevelt Academy — once the pride of the Upper East Side, now a gathering of alumni flaunting careers, diamonds, and new last names.

Evelyn Owen arrived late. She slipped through the revolving doors in a simple navy dress, her hair still damp from the snow. While the others shimmered in sequins, she looked like she’d wandered in from another world. In a sense, she had.

At the far end of the room, Vanessa Grant’s laughter rang out — bright, deliberate, practiced. Vanessa had always been the center of attention: prom queen, cheer captain, the kind of girl the world never said no to. She looked almost unchanged — glowing skin, designer gown, her arm hooked around the man Evelyn once loved.

Adrian Cole.

For a moment, Evelyn couldn’t breathe. Time seemed to fold back into itself — the hallways of Roosevelt, the bleachers at night, his hand reaching for hers under a canopy of stars. Then his eyes met hers, and the warmth of the memory shattered.

“Evie?” Vanessa’s voice sliced through the noise, all sugar and steel. “Oh my god, is that you? It’s been forever!”
Evelyn smiled faintly. “Hi, Vanessa.”
Vanessa squeezed Adrian’s arm possessively. “You remember Adrian, don’t you? Though maybe you two don’t keep in touch anymore?”

The air thinned. Adrian nodded politely, his expression unreadable. “It’s been a while,” he said quietly.
Vanessa leaned closer to Evelyn, a mocking sympathy glimmering in her eyes. “By the way, how’s your baby? You didn’t bring your husband tonight?”

The room fell silent.

Evelyn blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Oh come on,” Vanessa chuckled, pretending embarrassment. “Someone showed me a photo last year — you at the hospital, pregnant. I thought you’d have a family by now.” She tilted her head. “Or was it… complicated?”

A few classmates exchanged uneasy glances. Evelyn’s fingers tightened around her glass.
“I don’t have a husband,” she said evenly. “And I don’t have a child.”

Vanessa’s lips curved in false surprise. “Oh, that’s right,” she murmured. “You lost the baby… almost nine months in, wasn’t it?”

The words hit the room like ice water. Adrian’s hand jerked — the wine glass shattered in his grip, red spilling like blood across the marble floor.

No one spoke.

Evelyn’s pulse pounded in her ears. Memories surged — hospital lights, the still weight of her grandmother’s hand, the tiny body she had cradled one last time before they took it away. She inhaled slowly, forcing her voice steady.

“Yes,” she said. “The baby didn’t make it.”

For the first time, Vanessa’s smile faltered — but only for a second. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, too softly to sound sincere. “But next time, you should get checked earlier. Some women just aren’t made to carry life.”

The crack of Evelyn’s slap echoed through the ballroom. Vanessa staggered back, clutching her face.
“Still got that mouth, huh?” Evelyn said coldly. “Guess I should be grateful for the rabies shot.”

She picked up her bag and turned to leave.

Adrian’s voice stopped her. “Evelyn, wait—what did you do to her?”

She turned, the corners of her mouth trembling. “What did I do?” she said quietly. “What do you think I did, Adrian?”

His silence answered for him. Just like all those years ago — when he’d chosen to believe the photographs, the rumors, and his father’s lies instead of her.

That night, she walked out into the snow. Behind her, the laughter resumed in careful tones, like nothing had happened.

It rained the next evening. Evelyn stood under the streetlamp outside a small flower shop she now owned in Brooklyn, waiting for the rain to stop. Her phone was dead, her e-bike broken.

A car pulled up — a black Maybach, sleek and familiar. The window rolled down.

“Get in,” Adrian said.

She hesitated. “Your fiancée wouldn’t like that.”

He looked away. The faint mark of a slap was visible on his cheek. “She knows I’m here.”

Evelyn laughed under her breath. “Then you really are a fool.”

He stepped out of the car, umbrella in hand, and held it over her. The rain soaked his shoulders, but he didn’t move it back toward himself. “Please,” he said softly. “Just… let me take you home.”

When she didn’t stand, he folded the umbrella and sat beside her on the curb. Water pooled around their shoes, reflections trembling in the puddles.

They sat in silence for a long time.

“She’s pregnant,” Evelyn finally said.

Adrian’s jaw tensed. “It’s not mine.”

Evelyn turned to him, startled. “What kind of game is this?”

“No game,” he said. “You were the only woman I ever—” He stopped himself, voice breaking. “That night before I left… I came to find you. I drank too much, but I remember you crying. I thought you were angry. I didn’t know you were… carrying my child.”

Evelyn froze. The sound of the rain swallowed the city. For a second, the whole world blurred.

“Stop,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“Was it mine, Evie?” His voice trembled. “Was the baby mine?”

She forced a bitter smile. “No. He wasn’t yours.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not. I moved on, Adrian. I had someone else.”
“Who?”
She looked away. “Does it matter?”

He reached for her hand, but another hand slapped his away.
“Don’t touch her.”

Tina Lin — Evelyn’s best friend — stood there, drenched but blazing with fury. “You ruined her once,” she snapped. “You don’t get another chance.”

“Tina—”
“No!” Tina pointed a finger at Adrian. “Do you even know what she went through? You left her with your father’s money and your silence. She buried her grandmother and her baby in the same week. She nearly died, Adrian.”

The rain poured harder. Adrian’s lips parted, but no words came out. He stood there, soaked and stunned, as Evelyn climbed into Tina’s car and disappeared into the storm.

Two weeks later, Vanessa walked into Evelyn’s flower shop.

She looked pale, thinner, and far less composed. “I need to order the wedding flowers,” she said stiffly.

Evelyn nodded, pulling out a catalog. “What kind?”

“Lily of the valley,” Vanessa said without hesitation. “Adrian loves them. When we lived in L.A., he drove a whole day just to bring home a pot of them for me.”

Evelyn’s hands faltered, but her face stayed calm. “They’re delicate,” she said softly. “They don’t survive long in foreign soil.”

Vanessa smiled, as if the words meant nothing. “Oh, by the way,” she added casually, flipping her hair. “You told me once that the baby you lost wasn’t his. Was that true?”

Evelyn met her gaze. “Why do you ask?”

Vanessa’s voice dropped. “Because I think he still loves you. I see the way he looks at you. And I hate it.”

Something inside Evelyn broke — not with pain, but exhaustion. “Then maybe,” she said gently, “you should stop fighting ghosts.”

She turned to arrange the bouquet. Behind her, Vanessa’s voice trembled. “You think you’re better than me?”

Evelyn didn’t answer. But when she turned back, Vanessa had tears in her eyes — and something darker behind them. Before Evelyn could react, Vanessa grabbed her wrist. They both stumbled backward into a rack of cactus plants.

Pain exploded. Evelyn gasped, but Vanessa screamed louder — her silk dress shredded, skin punctured by thorns. The shop door burst open.

Adrian.

He rushed forward, panic etched across his face. “Vanessa!” But when he saw the blood, his first move wasn’t toward his fiancée. It was toward Evelyn.

“Don’t move,” he said, his hands trembling as he pulled thorns from her arms. “You’re bleeding—”

Vanessa’s voice shrieked from behind them. “Don’t touch her! She did this on purpose!”

“Camera footage says otherwise,” came Tina’s sharp voice from the door. “Already sent to the cops.”

Moments later, an ambulance’s siren wailed outside. Vanessa was taken away, clutching her stomach, crying that she was losing her baby.

The next morning, Adrian sat outside the hospital, head in his hands. The child hadn’t survived.

Evelyn stood a few feet away, arms bandaged, heart heavier than ever. She should have felt vindicated, but all she felt was the echo of her own loss.

“Not your fault,” Adrian murmured, standing beside her.

“Maybe not,” she said. “But it doesn’t make it any less sad.”

They stood there, two broken people beneath a clouded sky, the rain whispering between them.

Months passed.

The tabloids screamed scandals: Carter Corp. heir accused of coercion. Engagement called off.
Adrian’s father suffered a stroke and died shortly after. Rumors spread — some said it wasn’t natural, that Adrian had taken over the empire with ruthless precision.

Evelyn didn’t read the news anymore. Her flower shop thrived quietly, its shelves filled with lilies of the valley — his favorite, her curse.

Sometimes, she saw a black Maybach parked across the street. It never stayed long. Just enough for her to feel the weight of eyes that never stopped watching.

She no longer turned to look.

Life went on — as it always did. Tina married a journalist. Jake, the young landscaper who worked part-time at her shop, brought laughter back into the place. When he smiled, the world felt a little less gray.

One spring afternoon, he handed her a bouquet. “For you,” he said shyly. “They reminded me of you.”

She smiled — genuinely this time. “They’re beautiful, Jake.”

Across the street, in the parked Maybach, Adrian watched her smile. He didn’t move. Didn’t call her name. Just looked — and for the first time in years, smiled too. Not because he was happy, but because she was.

He opened a worn box in his lap. Inside was a tiny, faded piece of baby fabric — the only remnant of the life they had almost shared. His eyes glistened as he whispered,
“I’m sorry, my son. I kept you too long in my heart.”

Years later, the old man they once called Adrian Cole — now gray-haired, half-blind — sat outside a quiet flower shop near the Hudson. The sign above the door read Evelyn’s Garden, though the owner had long since sold it.

He came every week, sitting for hours, staring at the lilies of the valley swaying by the window.

When his caretaker tried to take him home, he shook his head, clutching a small, torn piece of baby cloth to his chest.

“Bury me here,” he murmured, eyes full of rain. “With them.”

And when the last snow of the season fell over New York, it covered the little shop in white — soft and silent, like forgiveness.