Chapter 3

I remember the day I came down with a terrible fever. Edward was overseas, so I called Samuel. He drove through the night to Hillside Manor and got me to the hospital.

Samuel stayed with me through the night. But the next morning, I woke to find us sharing the narrow hospital bed just as Mabel barged into the room with a small entourage.

After that incident, Samuel cut off all contact. Edward, for his part, withdrew into icy detachment.

I thought he'd be reasonable. It was a hospital, for God's sake. Staff were constantly in and out, and I was delirious with fever. Nothing could have happened.

The truth was, he had never believed me.

The signs were all there. His demand for a paternity test when I became pregnant was the final, undeniable proof.

*****

Mabel's voice dripped with malice. "Edward must never know, not even on his deathbed, that I made Lucy sick, knocked Samuel out, and staged the whole scene."

Martha nodded hastily. Having served her for decades, she knew what Mabel was capable of and the consequences of crossing her.

I lunged for a vase, intending to hurl it at her. But my hands passed through the solid porcelain. She remained untouched.

A profound helplessness washed over me. Then a grim laugh bubbled up inside. What did it matter? I was already dead.

I just didn't know when I'd finally move on, or even where I would go. Heaven or hell, it was all the same to me now.

For two days, I drifted in Edward's wake. He went through the motions: work, meals, the obligatory client dinners.

The only deviation from his routine was the occasional call to my number. It never connected.

Each time, he would curse under his breath. "Damn it. Straight to voicemail again."

One night, he staggered through the front door, reeking of liquor. Charlotte was curled on the sofa, waiting. "Edward, you're home," she said, hurrying to support him.

Edward peered at her face, his gaze unfocused. "Lucy?" he murmured.

Charlotte's face froze. Her grip on his arm tightened. "Edward, it's Charlotte," she said.

Edward blinked, momentarily disoriented, and allowed himself to be led to the bedroom. He collapsed onto the mattress.

With a calculated gasp, Charlotte let herself fall against him.

The air was thick with implication. Charlotte nestled against him. "Edward," she whispered, "if Lucy comes back, will you divorce her?"

Edward's eyes were fixed on the ceiling. "Yes," he said. "She'll pay."

A punishment for leaving him for so many days.

A smile of triumph played on Charlotte's lips. She leaned in for an embrace, but Edward turned his head away, a hand coming up to gently fend her off. "Go to your room," he mumbled. "I'm tired."

"Of course," Charlotte said, the picture of obedience. She rose, efficiently removed his shoes and socks, and quietly left the room.

I sat on the windowsill. My legs had grown nearly transparent. Maybe I was about to fade away. No more of this rootless existence in a world where I no longer belonged.

They would be happy together. Charlotte was his first love. Her every distress call had been his summons, trumping all else.

I didn't learn the truth until after the wedding: his attraction to me was a pale reflection of his feelings for Charlotte. We shared a certain vibrancy.

Charlotte's vibrancy was the untroubled radiance of a pampered girl. Mine was a defense mechanism, a shield of thorns to keep the world at bay.

When Charlotte left for medical treatment overseas during college, Edward, at a loose end, turned his attention to me.

I was a spirited stray to be coaxed and tamed, a diverting project for a man who enjoyed conquests.

Later, Charlotte returned to get married herself. She sought me out just to taunt me. "You think he loves you?" she said. "Watch. After I get married, he'll propose to you, his consolation prize."

I retorted, furious. "He does love me! He worked those menial jobs with me. He almost went to jail for me—for trying to protect me from my father."

Charlotte's laughter was sharp and cruel. "You poor, deluded fool. I'm the one he's always loved. Everything he did for you was a pathetic attempt to ease his guilt over me."

Her mockery stoked my anger. Yet my hand hadn't even lifted before she crumpled to the floor in a fit of sobs.

Edward appeared just then, rushing to gather her up. The look he shot me was pure disappointment. "What have you done?" he demanded. "You know how fragile she is. Don't lay a hand on her!"

The hurt then was deep, rooted in his disbelief. But that pain was merely a prelude.

After we got married, he broke my heart more than once because of Charlotte.

A cough that produced blood. A bruise from her husband. A cut from a kitchen knife. Each was an emergency that demanded his immediate presence.

His constant refrain was, "She has no one else here but me. She's like a sister to me."

And because he was tender with me, too, in those early days of marriage, I chose to believe him.

I remembered, not long before the end, Charlotte coming to my home. She was holding Edward's belt.

A faint blush touched her cheeks. "Edward was in such a rush last night, his belt ended up under my bed. This morning, he must have grabbed mine by mistake. I thought I'd return his, in case he's looking for it later."

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Last night, Edward was..."

My hand struck her cheek.

She choked, blood trickling from her lips as she fell. Then Edward was there, his hand striking my face before I could even react.

I was pregnant then. I stood there, my eyes wells of disappointment. He never met my eyes. He simply gathered Charlotte into his arms and sped off to the hospital.

Charlotte made a miraculously swift recovery, up and about the next day. I, however, nearly miscarried.

Not a word of apology, only a cold dismissal: "Good riddance to that bastard."

Bastard.

The bitter irony lodged in my throat: his own flesh and blood, deemed a "bastard" for no crime but her sex.

In that moment, my heart sealed itself against him.