Chapter 3

Patrick looked at me, weeping and lost, and I knew he had never seen me this helpless.

Not even the year Lucy sent me flying and I coughed up blood, when I was still soothing his nerves.

Not even when I woke to a world that had moved on without me, and forced myself to pick up the professional knowledge I'd set down five years before.

Not even seeing my mother's mind broken, when I wiped my tears fast and went through her file line by line, hunting for a specialist.

He crouched to help me lift her, and his voice turned tender.

"Don't be scared, Irma. I'll get Mom to the hospital right now."

Before he could get her up, Lucy clutched her belly and cried out.

"Patrick, I think the baby's coming!"

"You promised me you'd be there for every single birth!"

His hands went still.

And under my desperate eyes, he slowly set my mother back down.

"Lucy nearly died delivering the first one. I can't risk anything happening to her again."

"I'll call a car for Mom, it'll come fast!"

I watched him lift Lucy and walk away without hesitation.

Something wrenched at my heart with a force I couldn't see.

With everything I had left, I carried my mother alone, flagged a cab, and rushed her to the hospital.

The rage and grief had brought on a brain hemorrhage.

When they wheeled her out of the emergency room.

Listening to the steady beep of the monitor.

Looking at her face, drained white, without a trace of color.

I cried without a sound.

I stayed with her the whole night. Patrick never called once.

Barbara, though, had a new post on her feed.

The photo showed:

Patrick cradling the newborn with the greatest care.

Bernice tenderly holding a cup of water to Lucy's lips.

Rodney sitting off to the side, gently rocking the older boy.

The caption read:

"Two babies in five years. Seeing my best friend this happy, how am I even happier than she is?"

I had pictured that exact scene five years ago, when the test told me I was pregnant.

But it would never come true now.

I kept vigil straight through until my body was ready to give out.

Only then did Patrick push open the door and catch me as I swayed.

"Why didn't you hire a caregiver?"

"Look how worn out you are. Are you trying to break my heart?"

Watching the concern flood his eyes, I felt myself go unmoored.

As if yesterday's ugly scene had only been a dream.

But looking at my mother still unconscious on the bed, breathing in the milk-sweet smell of a newborn on him.

I knew.

It was only those two weddings we never finished.

That had been the dream.

I pushed at him with the last of my strength.

"Patrick, we're over!"

"Over. Do you understand that?"

He let me shove at him and heaved a heavy sigh.

"Irma, we loved each other fifteen years. Can you really end it?"

My hands stopped, and the tears came streaming down.

From love at first sight freshman year, to the brutal grind of building a company after graduation.

From the business finding its feet inch by inch, to the horror of the wedding five years ago.

And now the empty dream I'd woken into.

Fifteen whole years.

But now.

He no longer carried the gardenia scent I knew.

No longer my anchor, already the father of two children.

Whether I could bear to end it...

Was that even mine to decide anymore?

Seeing me go quiet, he thought I was giving in, and held me tighter.

"Seven years ago you brought Lucy into the company as my assistant. She was drugged at a reception, and I was the one who saved her."

"She was a young girl, her first time. I had to take responsibility for her, didn't I?"

"When she hit you that day, she'd just found out her pregnancy hormones were unstable. She panicked when she heard I was going to marry you."

"I've already punished her. She only gets the title, and it's not announced publicly."

"Now she's given me two children. I really can't bring myself to be hard on her..."

Listening to him mutter it all out, I only found it absurd.

So it turned out Lucy had the nerve to hit me five years ago because she was already sleeping with him.

And in those five years he never won justice for me or my unborn child, because Lucy was carrying his child too.

I closed my eyes, spent.

"Patrick, thank you for being honest with me about all this..."

"For making me understand..."

"I don't want to love you anymore..."