Chapter 6 - The Anatomy of Regret
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During my first week in La Jolla, the California sun began to thaw the ice in my veins. But Grant’s relentless messages served as a constant reminder of the wreckage I had left behind.
He texted every few hours, his words growing increasingly desperate.
He apologized for missing my doctor’s appointments. He apologized for standing by while Evelyn mocked me at dinner parties. He wrote paragraphs begging for forgiveness for giving Madison my vintage brooch.
I thought our marriage was fine, he texted one Tuesday evening while I was walking along the beach. You never complained, Claire. I thought you were happy.
I stopped walking, letting the cool water wash over my bare feet. That single sentence was the most damning confession of all. My silence had been convenient for him. He hadn't bothered to look past the perfect hostess smile I wore to his corporate galas. Because I didn't scream, he assumed I wasn't bleeding.
I didn't reply. My silence was no longer for his comfort; it was my weapon.
Then, on Friday, the tone of his messages changed. He sent a blurry ultrasound photograph.
Madison was rushed to the hospital, the text read. One baby is significantly smaller than the other. The umbilical cord is wrapped twice around his neck. The doctors put her on strict bed rest, but she’s having panic attacks. She won't stop crying.
Another text followed a minute later.
Was this what it was like for you? Were you this terrified when you sat in those waiting rooms alone? I am so sorry, Claire. I had no idea how dark it gets.
I read the text as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in violent shades of orange and purple. I felt a pang of sympathy for the innocent babies, but absolutely none for the man who fathered them.
He had required the near-tragedy of another woman’s pregnancy to finally drum up an ounce of empathy for mine.
May you like
I blocked his number. I needed to move forward. Noah was helping me draft business plans to open my own boutique architectural design firm. I was finally building something for myself.
But the Whitmores were used to getting what they wanted, and three weeks after I arrived, the devil herself showed up in California.
