Chapter 4
When I finally made it home, Charles was in the kitchen cooking for Hannah.
He looked up, a flicker of guilt crossing his face.
"Hannah was hungry," he explained. "I was worried about the baby. I was going to come find you right after I finished."
From the sofa, Hannah let out a smug laugh, tilting her head back as she popped a grape into her mouth.
"That's not what you said, Charlie. You said Ms. Jensen was already soaked, so she could walk home herself. You said you wanted to cook for me."
I acted as if I hadn't heard, wearing a blank mask as I walked past them, dripping water all over the floor, and went upstairs.
His eyes followed me until Hannah called his name, pulling his attention back to where it belonged.
I hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours. I took a quick shower and collapsed into the guest bed.
I woke up near noon, my head thick and heavy with fever. As I tried to sit up, the room spun.
Just then, Hannah appeared, leaning against the doorframe. The look in her eyes was the same one she had had the day she pushed me down the stairs.
"So, when are you asking for the divorce again?" she purred. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts.
"You need to learn your place, Emily. You lost a baby and still couldn't touch me. Do you really think you can win this fight?"
It was true. In this life, whatever Hannah did, Charles would find a way to absolve her of all blame. In any conflict that involved the three of us, I was destined to be the loser.
Her taunts made my chest seize, and I gasped for air.
It was this pathetic picture that Charles saw when he came looking for Hannah.
He started toward me, but in a practiced move, Hannah swayed and collapsed into his arms.
Charles panicked. "Get Dr. Campbell over here, now!" he yelled to the housekeeper downstairs, not sparing me another glance.
A few minutes later, the housekeeper, Laura Mason, came up with some fever reducers and a glass of water.
"Mrs. Landon, I told Mr. Landon you were ill," she said softly. "He said he'd have the doctor check on you. Just try to rest."
I drifted into a feverish sleep. When I woke again, it was almost midnight.
The doctor had come and gone. But Charles had never appeared.
Even Laura hadn't returned.
I fumbled for my phone and saw it. Charles, who never used social media, had posted a nine-photo grid from a tropical resort two hours ago.
Hannah, in a bikini that made her pregnancy unmistakable, was at the center of the photo. Charles and his entire childhood crew formed a tight circle around her, a human wall protecting her from everything.
And yet, while I was pregnant, he used my "delicate condition" as an excuse to leave me behind and take Hannah on multiple vacations.
The house was empty. I had been burning with fever for a day and a night, and no one knew.
In the end, it was Laura, who was supposed to be on her day off, who found me. Worried, she had come by to check in and discovered me unconscious. She was the one who got me to the hospital.
From the hallway, she hesitated but finally called Charles.
When Charles answered, his voice was warm and languid, drenched in the happy exhaustion of a long day at the beach.
"What's up?" he asked.
Glancing at my pale form on the gurney, Laura steeled herself.
"Mr. Landon," she began, her voice trembling, "Ms. Evans refused to let the doctor see her. Your wife collapsed. We're at the hospital now because she's in emergency."
The sound of a glass shattering echoed down the line. A moment later, Charles was in a cab, still in his swim trunks, racing to the airport.
The sound of arguing pulled me from my sleep.
I opened my eyes to see Charles and his precious Hannah in a tense standoff.
Charles was visibly conflicted. He dropped his gaze to the floor, stewing in a sullen silence.
She was silent, but fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
Finally, with a sigh of defeat, he pulled her into a comforting hug.
I coughed softly. His back went rigid, and he slowly let her go.
He knelt by my bed, his hand gently touching my forehead.
"Emmy," he murmured. "Are you feeling any better? I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone."
I turned my head away from his touch.
"Water," I said.
He helped me take a few sips. The entire time, Hannah just stood there, watching.
It was so strange that I finally looked up at her.
She offered me a small smile.
Charles set the cup down, for the first time unable to meet my eyes.
"Emmy," he began, his voice strained. "Hannah's baby will be born soon. I have to give it a name. Make it legitimate."
He trailed off, struggling for the words.
Hannah stepped forward, her hand covering his.
He took a deep breath.
"If you don't want to raise this child with me, then we should get a divorce."
As the words left his mouth, his hand clenched into a tight fist.
I stared at the pair of them, a tableau of tragic love, and said nothing for a long time.
Hannah, fearing my refusal, jumped in. "You can have anything you want. Just name your price."
I finally found my voice.
"Say you're sorry ten times. And slap yourself across the face, hard, ten times. Do that, and I'll sign the papers."