Chapter 3

That night I barely slept. My belly ached with a dull, low pain, my throat felt strangely empty, and even breathing carried a chill.

The next morning, the moment I reached the top of the stairs, I heard Amelia's soft little voice drifting up from the dining room. "Daddy, Mommy said we can go take wedding photos this weekend, right?"

"Once we take the wedding photos, we'll be a real family, and I can be with Daddy and Mommy every single day!"

Sibyl's voice came with a false little scolding. "Amelia, don't say things like that. If your Auntie Eleanor hears, she'll be upset."

Amelia asked, puzzled, "Why would she be upset?"

Clive's voice was gentle. "Don't mind her."

"This weekend Daddy will take you all to have them done. Our Amelia can be the prettiest little flower girl, all right?"

Amelia clapped her hands, thrilled. "Yes! Thank you, Daddy!"

Seven years I'd been with him. I'd brought up wedding photos more times than I could count. He always said once the studio was stable, once this project was done, once we had the money.

So it wasn't that he didn't want to take them. He just didn't want to take them with me.

I drew a deep breath and walked down the stairs, one step at a time.

Clive looked up and saw me. The smile on his face faded a little. He set down his chopsticks, a trace of impatience in his voice. "You're up? Come eat."

I stopped beside the table and asked, calm. "You just said you're taking them to shoot wedding photos this weekend?"

He froze for a second, probably not expecting me to ask it outright, then frowned and scoffed. "It's just a photo to keep a child happy. You've got a problem with that?"

"Amelia's grown up envying other kids for having a mom and dad. So I humor her a little. What's wrong with that?"

"A grown woman like you, competing for attention with a five-year-old?"

I asked coldly, "Clive, the invitations for our wedding next month have already gone out. You're taking another woman and her child to shoot wedding photos. Where does that leave me?"

He grew more impatient. "It's one photo. What's it supposed to mean?"

"Eleanor, we've been together seven years. You were never this petty before."

Sibyl quickly set down her bowl and stood, eyes rimmed red. "Eleanor, I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I didn't raise my child right."

"I'll take Amelia and leave right now. We'll never appear in front of you again—"

Clive stopped her, his voice gentle. "This has nothing to do with you. Stop taking the blame for everything."

Then he turned to me, his tone gone cold. "Eleanor, I'm warning you. Don't push it too far."

"Sibyl has been through enough. Don't corner her."

Watching the way he shielded them, I suddenly laughed.

"Fine. I'm pushing it too far."

"Then this wedding—let's call it off."

The moment the words left my mouth, the dining room went silent.

When Clive came back to himself, his face was full of scorn. "Eleanor, are you done throwing your fit?"

"Seven years, and you say it's off just like that?"

"You think I don't know you? You love me to death. As if you could bear to leave."

"Enough. Sulk for a couple of days and get it out of your system, but don't press your luck."

"Once Amelia's better, I'll buy you a bag and we'll put this behind us. That works, doesn't it?"

Looking at how sure of himself he was, the last shred of hope left in me shattered completely.

Yes. Seven years.

I had always gone along with him, done what he said, agreed to everything.

So he was certain that no matter how angry I got, I'd never actually leave.

He'd turned my love into a chip he could gamble without fear.

I said nothing more. I turned and went upstairs, walked into the bedroom, pulled open the closet, and started packing my suitcase.

Since he was so sure I wouldn't go, then I'd walk out and let him watch.

These seven years of a true heart, I'd just count them as thrown to the dogs.