She's pregnant. The blood test and ultrasound confirmed it. I don't know whether to be grateful or terrified. In the three weeks since she arrived, Kara has settled into my home and my life. But still, I find myself erecting barriers to keep from going where I know I shouldn't. She's the surrogate for my and Sophia's child. And although that in and of itself is monumental, the fact that I find myself drawn to her is of even greater concern. Concern, because I feel as if I'm betraying the memory of my wife by allowing myself to experience anything other than indifference toward Kara.

But indifferent, I am not.

"Will? Are you even listening to me?" Abbi calls out from across the table at our favorite restaurant.

I shake my head and give an unapologetic smile. "Not really." I chuckle.

That earns a mysterious smirk that instantly puts me on alert. "What are you thinking about, brother of mine? It wouldn't happen to be a beautiful blonde that just so happens to be carrying your child, would it?" She giggles at my expression of mock horror.

"You're so transparent, Will Scott." She reaches over and playfully smacks my hand. "Admit it ... you're attracted to her, aren't you?"

I pull my hand back and rub my suddenly sweaty palms on the tops of my jeans clad thighs. This conversation is quickly heading into uncomfortable territory. I don't mind the fact that my sister can see through my guise, but what bothers me the most is that maybe Kara can too.

I reach over with my fork and stab a boneless buffalo wing from the appetizer tray. I chew slowly as the smile on Abbi's face takes on an entirely different twist.

"You can't be serious? Are you going to deny that you're attracted to her? I've seen the two of you together and it's obvious to anyone, but the two of you, that chemistry is bubbling in the air." She leans forward and spears a piece of chicken with her fork.

I take a drink of my beer to wash mine down. "I don't know what you're talking about. Can we not enjoy our meal without you invading my personal life? There's a thing called boundaries ... respect them, Abbi." My tone comes out a little sharper than intended, but my sister shrugs it off as nothing more than a minor nuisance.

"She's a sweetheart, Will. Don't be mean to her because you're having trouble coping with this. Besides, it's good to see you smile again."

I give her a look that only a sibling could provoke. "You're meddling, aren't you? What have you said to her?"

Her cheeks instantly take on a pink hue as she raises her shoulder in dismissal.

I sigh, leaning back in my seat and taking a swig of my beer. "Some things just have to work themselves out. You can't make me be happy again. It takes time, and I'm just not there yet." I set my mug down and cast a questioning look her way. "Don't you think I want to feel that way again? I'm not happy being miserable all the time, Abbi. It's not a choice I make every day when I get out of bed in the morning. It. Just. Is. Nothing more. Nothing less. So let it go. I'll come around when I'm ready."

The corners of her mouth pinch as she fights to withhold her response, but eventually, she just gives in and lets it fly. "Bullshit. You can choose to be happy and let the past go. It is a choice, Will. Don't you see that? Don't you understand that by making that choice, you can allow yourself to be happy again?"

I shake my head and toss my napkin onto my plate, no longer willing to participate in this conversation. She's always pushing. And for once, I'd like her to leave it be.

I rise, shoving my chair away with the backs of my legs. I pull my wallet from my back pocket and pull out enough to cover the tab and tip, then toss it down onto the table.

Her eyes go wide. "You can't leave! The main course hasn't even arrived."

"I've lost my appetite." I grunt in response as I head around the table. Her arm flies out, her hand latching onto my bicep.

"Will, I'm sorry. Okay? I'm just trying to help you, but all I ever seem to do is piss you off more than you already are. Sit down." She gestures to my vacant chair. "I'll back off." She pats her chest and looks at me in earnest. "I promise. Just sit back down and we'll enjoy our dinner."

I've never been able to stay angry with my sister. Even though she's the eldest, I've always felt the need to look out for her happiness. And that means I can't be the reason she's unhappy, no matter how much it chafes.

Reluctantly, I sit back down.

"Now, tell me about work? How's the new office coming along?" she asks then takes another bite of her chicken.

* * *

"Mr. Price will see you now."

I rise from the soft leather chair and follow the receptionist to his office. The four walls are solid glass and completely see-through, leaving the door closing behind me a false sense of privacy.

Mr. Price is an older man, probably in his mid-sixties, but very highly recommended. I know because I've researched him thoroughly on the internet. He specializes in difficult divorces. Namely, women seeking divorces from abusive husbands. Most of the money from my initial payments have been set aside to afford his representation. I couldn't take a chance with a cheap lawyer. I needed this done right and as discreetly as possible.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Bradford."

"Nice to meet you," I respond.

He extends his hand, and we shake before taking our seats—him on the other side of his broad mahogany desk, and me in a black leather arm chair across from him.

"So I've looked over your file and familiarized myself with the North Carolina divorce laws. We have an affiliate in North Carolina who can take the lead on this case, but I'll be the intermediary between the two of you. I'll also take the lead on any actions you need filed on your behalf. Basically, we'll work through him, but I'll be making all the final decisions. I think we can accommodate your request for a name change as well with the expedience you require." He opens a manila folder and begins to pull out the documents I carefully filled out, detailing my circumstances and the reason for my divorce.

"We'll file this under irreconcilable differences and proceed as you've suggested. Mr. Bradford will be granted the home, the vehicle, and all belongings you left behind. Are there any joint loans that I need to address in the filing?" He looks up from the folder to me.

"No, sir. I've never had any credit cards or loans in my name. Jay insisted everything be in his name."

His lips thin as he takes this in with a look of disdain. "I see."

"It's better this way, right?"

He gently closes the folder and leans back in his chair, his fingers steepling over the slight bulge of his belly. He gives me an assessing gaze before answering. "How long have you been running?"

His blunt question takes me by surprise, and before I can formulate a lie to answer, he cuts the air with his hand, dismissing my rebuttal. "There is no need for lies between the two of us. You've hired me to help rid you of this man, and I intend to do so. Now ...” He leans forward, undoing the top button of his suit jacket. "What I need from you is the truth." He cuts me a knowing look. "All of it."

My fingers tighten around the leather of my purse straps, and I begin to tell him my story, from the very beginning to the awful end.

By the time I've spilled all my secrets, it feels as if I've shed a hundred-pound weight from my chest. I've never told anyone the things I just shared with this stranger. But for some reason, I trust him. He reminds me of a caring grandfather seeking justice for those who've wronged me.

From his thinning gray hair to his ruddy round cheeks, Mr. Price gives off a comforting vibe. He seems genuinely vested in helping me rectify the mistake I made so many years ago.

"So do you think you'll be able to do this without him finding me? He can't know where I'm at."

He rubs at the five o'clock shadow on his chin, thinking over his response. "Ms. Bradford, I have to warn you that if we were to file an order of protection, he'd likely use it to locate your whereabouts. Especially given his access to the legal system. With that in mind, I think it best we avoid any such declarations. I'll proceed with the divorce filing and the request you've submitted to have your name legally changed."

I nod, taking everything in and growing more nervous by the second. I'm finally doing it. Cutting all ties between me and him. I know I should feel somewhat liberated, but the only feeling that is overwhelming me right now is fear. The fear of being found. The fear of what he'll do to me once he does find me. The fear of protecting the unborn child I carry for another.

Just. Fear.

"I know that look." He eyes me with a look of concern as he reaches into a drawer and pulls out a card. He reaches over the desk, extending the card to me. I reach over and take it, eyeing it cautiously.

"It's a group for battered women. My wife volunteers there and can help you through the next stage."

"Stage?" I ask, confused.

He gives me a warm smile. "Yes, Ms. Bradford. This is the next stage. After this, there's another stage. Life is a series of calculated stages that we must prepare and tackle with a single-minded enthusiasm. There are people at that shelter who can help you figure out how to do so. It's a wonderful organization, and I trust they'll give you the guidance you seek."

I clutch the card to my chest and take a deep breath, releasing it slowly as I absorb the gravity of the situation I'm facing. I glance up at Mr. Price and offer him a forced smile. "Thank you so much. I'll look into this."

"I hope you do." He stands and makes his way around the desk to show me out. Before I exit through the door, he catches me by the elbow and leans in to whisper to me. "They can help you in ways that are beyond the law. Please utilize their resources. It could save your life. But just to be on the safe side, I'll hire a private investigator to keep an eye on that deadbeat husband of yours. My guy is retired military, and he's very thorough. Having the inside scoop on your husband’s whereabouts should give you some peace of mind."

I swallow the lump rising in my throat and give a nervous nod. "Thank you," I whisper back and then take my leave.

When I'm outside, I walk close to a block in a haze before the cold wind nearly cuts straight through me. I raise an arm and wave a cab over, climbing in and telling him my address. The rest of the trip home is a blur as my mind runs through everything that's happened and what Jay's reaction will be when he receives the divorce papers.

He's going to lose his mind. He'll come looking for me. I know he will. He'll never accept that I'm moving on without him. No matter that he's treated me like shit for the past ten years, I'm a possession that he refuses to let go.

I lean my face against the window and stare off into the distance. My mind’s a cluttered mess of nerves, but a small thrill of exhilaration begins to assert itself as well. What if he doesn't find me, and I'm finally rid of him? The thought brings a smile to my face. Wouldn't that be grand!