Chapter 3
Grace
My palms are sweaty as I carry the basket of baked goods, following Faith down the brightly-lit hallway. “This feels like a bad idea,” I tell her, hesitation cracking my voice.
She slows her pace, waiting for me to catch up, and peers at me from over the bouquet of pink carnations she’s carrying. “Gracie—c’mon. Don’t be nervous. This is Sammie we’re talking about.”
My point exactly.
Sammie is Daniel’s baby sister. She’s fiercely protective of him. They fight like cats and dogs but those two love the hell out of each other.
She’s also one of my best friends.
And that’s the only thing that keeps me walking toward that hospital room. I’d like to believe that if our roles were reversed, she wouldn’t let something like this ruin our relationship. Because divorcing your best friend’s brother isn’t such a big deal, right?
Faith’s grin brightens her eyes. “And if all else fails,” she says, tickling my ribs, “you’ve got cheesecake brownies…Trust me—you’re good.”
A small smile comes to my lips. Still, the idea of my sometimes-temperamental sister-in-law emptying the contents of her bedpan on my head has my stomach churning and I have a hard time balancing on my shaky knees. Faith senses my hesitation.
With a super exaggerated eye-roll, she grabs me by the wrist. “You overanalyze everything,” she gripes as she pushes open the door and practically drags me inside.
She coos as she hastily deposits the flowers on a table, her eyes never leaving the little bundle wrapped up in Sammie’s arms. “Oh my god…” she whispers, tiptoeing closer to the bed to peer down into the baby’s face. “You’re here, Hannah! You’re here!”
The whole family surrounds the bed. Proud Papa Keeland stands protectively over Sammie and the baby, ready to intervene if anyone gets carried away with the snuggles and kisses. His brother, Maxwell, wraps his arms lovingly around Faith and she puts a quick peck on his cheek before turning back to the newborn. For someone who swears not to want any kids of her own, my sister really gets excited over babies.
Sammie’s parents, Claire and Gerald, beam as they fuss over their new grandbaby. Isla is here too, looking so proud of her best friend who apparently pushed that eight-pounder out in no time without painkillers.
Lingering in the background, I smile to myself. Baby Hannah is here.
Nine months can seem like an eternity when you’re waiting for a baby to show up. I know from experience. My hand unconsciously goes to my stomach and through the thin fabric of my shirt, my fingers trace the raised tissue of my jagged C-section scar.
Now, I wish that I’d brought Sebastian with me instead of leaving him home with Lily. I want to give my precious little boy a squeeze and a kiss. His birth was the most beautiful moment of my life. But all the love I felt in my heart wasn’t enough to keep tragedy at bay. The memory still stings.
Claire’s focus finally leaves her granddaughter and falls on me. And it’s surprise in my mother-in-law’s dark Latin features when she looks at me. “Grace!” The smile that is usually bright enough to warm a cloudy Reyfield afternoon now feels cold and strained.
“Congratulations…” I say hesitantly as I take a step closer.
I regret it instantly because the air in the room stills.
“Thank you,” Keeland says awkwardly, glancing down for his wife’s reaction. Sammie sits stiffly, staring through me without even efforting a smile.
“I brought snacks,” I tell them, swinging the basket of baked goods to bring it to their attention.
My mother-in-law’s lips curve at the corners but her eyes don't light up the way they usually do when she smiles from her gut. “Very sweet of you, Grace,” she says tightly then turns away.
It’s clear that they’ve seen that footage from Daniel’s courthouse press conference.
And I was right—I’m obviously not wanted here.
“Well, I’ll leave you all to celebrate,” I say quickly, backing away toward the exit. “I’ll just…I’ll just leave this…right here.” I set down the cakes and muffins next to the vase of carnations. No one answers. Faith’s sympathetic smile is the only assurance I get as I leave. “Congrats again.”
Needing a moment to gather myself, I pause just outside the door. I suck in a breath now that I’m liberated from the oppressive energy of the room. Why did I let Faith convince me to come here?
I turn around too fast and slam smack into a hard, warm chest. Gasping, I look up into the dark, tempestuous eyes of my husband. His warm, spicy smell surrounds me and I shiver.
I may have filed for divorce but my heart obviously didn't get the memo. It rages against my ribs like a pubescent girl running into her crush at the mall on a Saturday afternoon.
My palms are flat against his chest, propping me up. The memory of all that this man has hiding under his navy blue custom suit comes rushing back to me. The washboard abs. The golden skin. The lush trail of hair creeping out the waistband of his boxers up his chest. My breathing goes shallow and my stomach feels like it’s filled with helium. But the look in his eye tells me that I'm the only one feeling nostalgic.
He hates me.
It's written plain as day in his furrowed brows and his blazing irises. The sense of betrayal in his expression is haunting. His fingers curl around my shoulders, steadying me before he effortlessly steps around me, avoiding me like a traffic cone in the middle of the road.
“Daniel…” his name leaves my lips. He pauses for a fraction of a second before shooting me a glance over his shoulder.
There are so many things I should say. The most important one being, “I’m sorry.” But my throat locks around the words. With a tight expression, he turns away from me, continuing his procession into his sister’s hospital room to meet his brand-new niece.
When the door opens, his family bursts into cheers.
“Look Hannah! It’s your Uncle Daniel.”
“Come Daniel. Come take a picture with the baby.”
“You washed your hands, right? Do you want to hold her?”
The door swings closed behind him, sealing in the excited chatter and leaving me alone on the outside. In that moment, I question my decision to end my marriage.
Was this a huge mistake?
As I make my way to my car, I know that it no longer matters what I want. I can’t go back. If Daniel and I weren’t done before, I stuck a fork in our relationship when I signed those dissolution papers and handed them over to his archenemy.
I slam the door of my minivan behind me and sit in the dark cab, fighting the urge to cry.