Chapter 4
That evening, I walked through the front door of Sterling Manor and stopped short. Charles was home.
He sat on the living room sofa with a mug of cold tea on the coffee table in front of him. He had changed into a black suit. His hair was combed back neatly.
The dark stubble that had covered his jaw for days was gone. He looked like a normal, respectable man again. The first time in three days.
When he saw me step inside, he rose to his feet. "Nancy."
He said my name in a gentle manner.
In three years of marriage, I could count on one hand the number of times he had called me like that.
"Yes," I said.
"Where did you go today?" he asked.
"Out for a walk." I set my purse on the cabinet by the door. I did not meet his eyes.
"The doctor told me you're pregnant." His voice was unnaturally level. Calm. Like he was commenting on the chance of rain tomorrow.
My hand paused for a moment. "Yeah."
Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I could hear the old grandfather clock in the corner ticking away. Each click landed like a small stone against my chest.
"The baby," Charles said slowly. His voice had dropped lower. "Is it mine?"
I turned my head and met his gaze.
He stood by the floor lamp, warm yellow light spilling across his face, but it never touched his eyes.
Those eyes were cold, probing, and wary, like he was interrogating a suspect.
Suddenly, I found it so absurd I almost laughed out loud.
In three years, he had touched me exactly once. He was drunk that night. He called out another woman's name. He remembered nothing. He never asked about it afterward. Never wondered if it had really happened.
And now here he stood, staring at me with that look, asking if the baby belonged to him. Demanding an answer that I owed him.
"It's yours," I said. "That night. You were drunk."
Something flickered across Charles's face. A tiny fracture. Like something inside him cracked open before he quickly sealed it shut again. "I don't really remember that night."
"I know."
"Nancy, I—"
"You don't have to explain." I cut him off. My voice came out flat and cold. "I'm going to the hospital tomorrow. I'm ending the pregnancy."
Charles's head snapped toward me. "What did you say?"
"I'm having an abortion." Each word landed sharp and absolute, like a judge striking a gavel. "This baby was never supposed to exist. You don't want it. I don't want it. There is no point in keeping it."
"I never said I didn't want it."
"You didn't have to say it." I held his gaze. "It's written all over your face."
Charles opened his mouth, but then closed it again.
He walked over to the window and turned his back to me. Moonlight poured through the glass and stretched his shadow across the floor until it touched the tips of my shoes.
"Isabelle is gone," he murmured. He sounded like he was speaking to himself, not to me.
"I know."
"I always thought that if she came back, we could find some kind of ending. Then I could let you go. You could find someone who actually cared about you. I took three years from you, Nancy. I never should have—"
He broke off, his shoulders quivering.
I stood behind him, watching his back.
This man, the second son of the Sterling family, known in every boardroom for being sharp and ruthless, looked hollowed out. Empty. Like any ordinary man who had lost all his strength.
"Now she's dead," he went on. His voice was barely a whisper. "I don't get my closure."
"So what?" My voice came out so cold it barely sounded like my own. "Is that what this is? You want to use this baby to fill the hole Isabelle left behind?"
Charles turned around. His eyes were rimmed with red. "Nancy, that's not what I meant."
"Then why do you suddenly care about this baby? Because Isabelle is gone, and you remembered you still have a wife? Or do you think having a child will distract you from the pain? Something new to focus on? A way to pretend you still have a family?"
"Enough!" Charles barked.
The living room went dead silent. The ticking of the grandfather clock suddenly sounded louder than ever.
Charles crossed the room and stopped directly in front of me. He looked down, his breath warm against my forehead. It smelled faintly of tea and cigarettes.
"I know I failed you," he said. His voice had gone rough and low. "But these past three years, I never meant to shut you out. I simply did not know how to be around you.
"You're a good person, Nancy. You should never have married me. You should never have gotten tangled up with the Sterling family.
"You should never have gone through any of this."