The room goes quiet. It’s a silence much more devastating than the quiet of Francois’ storm. Debbie jerks her head toward Francois. Dorothy drops her head between her shoulders.

Francois has turned into an ice statue. His face is whiter than snow. “You won’t play that card.”

“What does she mean, a paternity test?” Debbie asks in a shrill voice.

I just look at Francois as he looks back at me. It’s the bomb that wasn’t supposed to drop, the wall between us we’ve never mentioned or acknowledged. If you ignore something for long enough, you can almost forget it exists. Almost.

“Answer me, Francois,” Debbie demands. “What does she mean?”

It’s Dorothy who knocks out the first brick. She lifts her head slowly. “Abby’s father can be any of three men.”

“Three men!” Debbie lunges to her feet. “What are you, Jane? A slut?”

Francois tries to pull her down. “Debs, please.”

She rips her hand from his. “I’m assuming you’re one of the men,” she says to Francois. “Who are the other two?”

“My sons,” Dorothy says. “Jane slept with both my sons and Francois in the space of two days.”

I’ve never heard her sound so defeated, not even when Evan died.

Francois is visibly shaking. “You won’t do it.”

I guess he didn’t expect me to ever face those unspoken demons, but there’s nothing I won’t do to keep my daughter, even digging up skeletons.

“Watch me,” I say.

Debbie sounds somewhere between angry and hurt. “Francois, why didn’t you tell me?”

A sob from the doorway stills me. It freezes me to my core. We all turn our heads in the direction of the voice. Abby stands in the frame, dressed in her favorite ice cream pajamas. A tail-wagging Dusty stands next to her.

No. Dear God, no.

“Who is my father?” Her breath catches on a hitch. “Tell me.”

“Abby!” I’m on my feet, rushing over to her.

I want to take her in my arms, but she takes a step back.

“Who is my father, Mom?”

“Francois will always be your father.”

“You know what I mean,” she yells.

“Abby, honey, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out…” Like this, I want to say, but the truth is I never wanted her to find out. I never wanted this for her.

“I want to know,” she says, fresh tears brimming in her eyes.

“Abby.” Francois reaches for her, but she backs away more.

“Don’t touch me. I want to know. I have a right to know.”

Tears are running over Debbie’s cheeks. “How could you?” She points at my daughter. “Look what you’re doing to her.”

“Francois left me no choice.”

“I want you to leave.” Debbie crosses the lounge and stands defiantly next to the door. “Both of you.” She points at Dorothy and me. “Out.”

I face my baby girl, three unbridgeable steps between us. “Do you want me to go? Will it make you feel better?”

She wraps her arms around herself. “I just want to be alone.”

“All right. I’m sorry, honey,” I whisper.

Dorothy is the only one who Abby allows to hug her. In many ways, Dorothy has been the grandmother she’s never had. If Dorothy was only at the house whenever Francois wasn’t there, Abby never questioned it. Now she knows why.

Now the world will know.

“Let’s go,” Dorothy says for a second time that day.

I let her guide me, not knowing where I’m going or where this is taking us. My world is falling apart, but I made my choice. I chose Abby. The next step is one of the hardest I’ll ever take in my life.

Dorothy insists on coming home with me, but I manage to convince her I need time by myself. In truth, it’s time to face Brian.

At home, I stand on my tiny balcony that faces my neighbor’s wall. The only sound that greets me is the traffic from the highway. Fast-moving cars. The air smells of cement dust from the building. So mundane, and yet, so profound. When the police officer knocked on the door that fateful night, I was trying to eat something I could keep down. Dry toast. The bread burnt in the toaster while he told us. Ever since, death smells like burnt toast. Now, the end smells like dust.

I’m at the end, but I know how to go forward. I’ve done it once. I can do it again. The worst about losing Evan was not being able to say goodbye. I never had a chance to tell him how much I loved him before he left. At least I’ll have this with Brian.

The ground level of Jane’s duplex is dark. Only the bedroom light upstairs is on. At this time of the evening, she’d be cooking with music playing in the background. Is she still sick? Using my key to enter, I half will her to stand in front of the sink, swaying her hips to a song while she rinses wine glasses. It’s a cute thing about her, how she always washes every glass before setting the table. It says a lot about her personality. She’s meticulous and committed to whatever she does. If that’s what she pours into a task as mundane as setting a table, she’s given her soul for her job. Here I am to destroy that.

The smell of roast or lamb chops doesn’t come from the oven. I should’ve picked up take-outs. If I weren’t so preoccupied with what I have to tell her, I’d have thought of it sooner. I stop at the bottom of the stairs to gather my thoughts and words.

I’m sorry. Toby offered me your job.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to steal your biggest account.

I’m sorry. I didn’t realize my meddling would get you fired.

Fuck.

Dragging a hand over my face, I climb the stairs one by one, feeling each step like a shock to my joints. In the doorframe to the bedroom, I pause. Jane is standing on the balcony, staring into the distance. I don’t like it. A heavy feeling of doom pushes down on my chest, stealing my breath. I take a shaky drag of air and walk to her. The carpet cushions my steps, but she’s aware of my presence, because she doesn’t react when I touch her shoulder.

“What are you doing out here in the dark?” I ask gently.

She turns to me slowly. The light from the bedroom falls over her figure. The look on her face knocks the wind from my stomach. Her eyes are hollow in their sockets, and her skin is so pale I can see a fragile blue vein in her temple. She doesn’t only look beaten. She looks broken.

Putting our bodies flush together, I cup her cheek. “Tell me.”

“I’m sorry.”

No. Fuck. No, no, no. I won’t let her go. I can’t. I swear to God I’ll blackmail her, lock her up, kidnap her, whatever it takes, but I won’t settle for sorry.

“You’re hurting me,” she whispers.

My fingers are clenched around her jaw. I didn’t realize how hard I was gripping her. Softening my touch, I trail a thumb over her bottom lip. My voice is tight. My gut is in a ball. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Abby.”

My heartbeat accelerates to a painful hammering. Jane won’t survive anything happening to her child. “Is it her eyes? Are they worse?”

Her beautiful, wide eyes tell me no as she stares up at me, catching her lip between her teeth.

“I’m so sorry, Brian.”

“It’s all right,” I blabber. “Whatever it is, we’ll fix it. We’ll work through it together.”

Before I’m done talking, her head is already shaking in denial.

“She said you touched her.”

She said you touched her.

I haven’t heard right. The words don’t make sense. They can’t mean what I think. Of course, I touched her. Our hands touched when we greeted each other with a handshake. I may have knocked my elbow into her arm when we both reached for the Parmesan cheese. It’s Jane’s despondent look that gives me the answer.

My heart goes from over-drive to slamming on brakes so hard it feels like whiplash in my chest. Everything inside me goes cold. My core is a block of ice. I drop my hand from Jane’s face and take a step back.

“I swear to you I didn’t lay a finger on Abby, not in the way she suggests. I’d rather cut off my hand.”

“Francois wants to lay charges.”

“I don’t care,” I say in a reckless disregard for the consequences, because charges will brand me as a child molester, innocent or not. “I’m not losing you, Jane. Ever.”

Tears shimmer in her eyes. She swallows twice.

Helplessness makes me weak. “You have to believe me.”

“What I believe won’t make a difference. I had to make a choice.”

Of course. Fuck. I feel like dropping to my knees. Only sheer willpower keeps me standing, waiting for the final blow that’ll ruin my life with a power nothing else can ever outweigh.

She wrings her hands together. “Abby always comes first.”

I want to rip the clouds clean out of the sky and trample fate under my boots. I want to punch a hole in the wall and break every bone in my hand, just so the physical pain will overshadow this gaping, burning slash that cuts my heart in two. Helplessness isn’t weak. Helplessness is a monster. I want to slay it, but how can I not understand? Wouldn’t I do the same for Sam? The uselessness of the situation makes me tear at my hair. If I could, I’d pull every strand from my head.

Her voice is shaking. Scared. “Brian?”

I stop, registering I’ve been circling like an animal stalking his own tail. Jane is shivering like a frail ribbon in a violent thunderstorm. Her slender legs are quivering, and her teeth are chattering.

Clasping a hand over my mouth, I swallow the words of pain, denial, and anger. Tonight, I’m walking away–she gives me no choice–but I’m not leaving her with the epitome of my fury at everything that’s unrighteous and fucked-up in this world.

One by one, I release my fingers, freeing my words. “I understand. I’d do the same for Sam.” I close the distance between us, letting the full length of my body rest against hers. My voice turns hard with intention. “But I’m not giving you up. I’ll wait. Ten years. Twenty. However long it takes.”

At some stage, Abby will leave the house. She’ll grow up. I have to cling to that or go to pieces. I want to smash the chair standing innocently to the side, placed there on its own as if she knew she’d sit here alone. I want to throw the one-man table over the rail and kick it to splinters, but I only fold my arms around Jane and hold her against me.

She sobs against my chest. My heart throbs under her cheek, breaking a little more with each beat as she cries harder. I run my hands over her back.

“Shh, princess.”

How do I soothe someone when I’m broken myself? How do I make it right when all I have left is so much despair? I can’t even be angry at Abby. I made her mother the older woman. At Abby’s age, it must be a hell of an embarrassment. She made no secret of hating my guts. I just never thought she’d take it this far.

Jane’s breath hitches on another sob.

“Come.” I lead her inside and pull her down on the bed.

The fact that she wants me to stay is enough. She wouldn’t have asked if she believed I did those unspeakable things to her daughter.

She’s a mess. Her hair is disheveled, and her make-up is smudged from the crying. It’s a knife in my chest to see her like this. There’s no way I can tell her about the account. Her job, for Christ’s sake. Not tonight. I pull a blanket over her since she’s still trembling, although I suspect it’s not from cold, before I go look in the medicine cabinet for something to calm her. There’s nothing save for over-the-counter pills for everyday ailments. I settle on two headache tablets and a triple shot of vodka, the only strong alcohol I can find.

She’s still crying when I get back to the bedroom. Her pillow is soaked.

“Shh.” I kiss her forehead and help her into a sitting position before handing her the liquor and pills. “Drink this. It’ll calm you.”

If nothing else, it should knock her out enough to get some much-needed sleep.

She swallows down the vodka and pills without arguing. Jane isn’t big on hard liquor. This alone tells me how much she needs relief from her pain. She hiccups and wipes her mouth with her hand.

I lower her back onto the mattress and rearrange the pillow and blanket.

“Will you stay?” she asks in a small voice.

“Yes.” Until she’s asleep. It’ll be better if I sneak off in her dreams. It’s less harsh than having to face the wrenching pain of a goodbye spoken in a doorway, of watching someone walk away, until you’re the one left behind, standing on your own with nothing but silence and loneliness.

“Don’t go to work tomorrow.” I stroke her hair. “Stay and rest. You need it. I’ll explain to Toby.”

She nods, her eyelids already heavy. When was the last time she slept? She looks knackered. At least if she stays in tomorrow, it’ll win me another day before having to share my own shitty load of bad news. It’s too much to take all at once. No single person can carry such a load. I’ll break it to her gently, when she’s rested and feeling better. It hurts to even think it, but maybe it’ll help her keep her distance from me. Her anger will see her over until I claim her back, because that’s the only given in my future at this moment. I will claim her back.

Not trusting myself enough to get under the covers with her, I sit on the edge of the bed, clutching her clammy hand in mine until the vodka kicks in, and she finally falls into a fitful sleep. Etching her features into my mind, I place a last, soft kiss on her lips before I walk away.

I wake up with a slight hangover, even if I’d swallowed down half a glass of vodka. The headache, fuzzy brain, thirst, and queasiness are only dull aches. They’re nothing compared to the emptiness in my heart. Brian is gone. His place in my bed is empty. He must’ve closed the sliding doors to the balcony and the curtains. The room is dark and depressing. More tears find their way to my eyes, but I have to stop crying. I have to face the world, today. I have to face Francois.

Allowing that purpose to drive me, I throw back the covers and get to my feet. I consider getting straight into the shower, but on second thought I pull on my exercise gear. I need to run. I need to maintain a resemblance of a routine. I try not to think about the squat rack Brian assembled in the garage.

Running past the construction site toward the more established part of the residence, I push myself until my lungs feel like combusting and my cramping muscles protest. Still, I carry on. On and on. Running in circles. Close to the main entrance of the complex, my knees buckle. My legs cave in. I hit the grassy shoulder next to the tarmac, going down in defeat. I’m sucking in gulps of air. The over-exertion makes me want to vomit. Turning on my back, I try to get back control over my breathing and body. A passing car slows down and stops. The door opens and a man exits. His face blocks out my light as he hovers over me.

“Hey, are you all right?”

“Fine,” I wheeze. “Ran too hard.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

“All right, then. Maybe take it easier on yourself.”

A truthful answer is not an option.

When he leaves, I take another few minutes to gather myself. I’m okay. I lived through Evan’s death. I can survive anything. Rolling onto my side, I force myself onto my hands and knees. It takes tremendous effort to get to my feet, but I manage. It’s a small victory. Running is no longer possible. Physically, I’ve depleted myself. I don’t have a choice but to walk the rest of the way home.

After a shower, I feel considerably better. Endorphins from the exercise flood my brain, and my energy starts to return. Since I can’t face food, I forego breakfast. I force myself not to think about Brian, lest I break down again. I need my strength to fight for my daughter. I need an action plan. I need the best defense I can get.

Dorothy organizes the lawyer. He listens to my case carefully before confirming that the court can order Francois to take a paternity test in the light of our circumstances. The other candidates are under no obligation and can’t be forced to undergo a test by court order. Francois must already know this, because when I call to ask how Abby is doing, he tells me he’s made an appointment for a paternity test. Thanks to Ralph’s contacts, he got an appointment at a private facility for today. That can only mean he’ll fight me with everything he’s got. Part of me wants it to be Francois for Abby’s sake, but another part fears the outcome. I can’t lose Abby. Dorothy’s lawyer assured me if Francois is Abby’s biological father, he has a strong case. The lawyer’s guess is that Francois will build a case on arguing that I’m an unfit mother. The multiple sex partners when Abby was conceived, the accusation against Brian, and the cobra attack all count against me, not to mention that Abby’s wish in the matter will weigh heavily, since she’s over thirteen years of age.

After lunchtime, I’m drained again. All I manage to keep down is a banana and a cup of tea. Not ready to face an empty house, I drive to the office. I’d rather immerse myself in work than sit at home in dreaded suspense, waiting for the outcome of Francois’ test. My nerves are shattered. My heart is broken. Work will be a welcome balm.

Erica, the receptionist, gives me an uncertain greeting. Our floor is empty when I climb up the stairs. Through the sandblasted glass walls of the meeting room, people are visible. All stations are deserted, which means everyone is in there. Of course. It’s the monthly staff meeting. With everything that’s happened, it completely slipped my mind. I can’t see the faces through the patterned glass, but Brian won’t be in. He’ll be studying. It’s soothing that no one in that room knows my history or dilemma. I can get lost in the problems of advertising without worrying about the people in the office. Thank God Brian and I didn’t announce our relationship at work.

Taking a steadying breath, I push open the doors. All heads turn toward me. A strange silence falls over the room. Then I see him. Brian stands at the head of the meeting table next to Toby. He’s wearing a shirt and tie. His handsome face hurts my heart with a force I haven’t expected, rendering my knees weak. It’s not the uncharacteristic attire that speaks to me, but the way his tanned face pales as he stares at me. What’s going on? I look at the other people in the room for a clue. Beatrix averts her eyes. Mable takes a gulp of water. Priscilla has a strange expression of pity. Alex shifts in his chair, and Bernard glances at Toby. Toby is wearing his thin-lipped smile, the one that promises nothing good.

“What’s going on?” I ask, taking a step into the room. The double doors close quietly behind me.

“You weren’t supposed to be in,” Brian says.

Toby clears his throat. “Everyone take five. Jane and Brian, in my office.”

He walks out ahead of us. Brian and I follow. In the hallway, Brian puts a hand on my arm. “You said you were staying at home.”

“I need to work. I couldn’t stand doing nothing, any longer.”

I can’t place the look he gives me.

“Jane,” Toby says, holding his door.

He lets me enter first but doesn’t invite me to sit. He stands in front of his desk, facing Brian and me. Did he find out about our relationship? Did Francois let something slip? Or did Francois tell him about Abby’s accusations? My heart stutters. If Brian loses this job because of–

“You didn’t tell her,” Toby says.

Brian doesn’t move his eyes from mine. “Yesterday wasn’t the right time. I was hoping to speak to you tonight, Jane.”

“Tell me what?”

Toby huffs. “This should’ve come from me. I shouldn’t have indulged you, Brian. I take all the blame for this awkward situation.”

I tear my gaze away from Brian. “Toby, you’re killing me.”

“Jane…” Toby licks his lips. “I wanted to tell you first, but this couldn’t wait, and Brian believed it was better he tells you. The investors wanted me to make an announcement today.”

“About what?”

“We’re giving the Monroe account to Brian.”

My ears start ringing. I stand perfectly straight, but underneath my dress my legs are wobbling. “What?”

“Mr. Monroe decided to go with Brian’s pitch. They’re going digital.”

He went behind my back? I can’t believe it. I glance at Brian, but the truth is there. He’s not denying it. He’s not trying to hide the remorse etched on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Brian says. “I didn’t mean to steal the account. I was trying to save it for you.”

“As of today,” Toby continues, “you no longer work here. I’m truly sorry. I am. I did what I could, but the big bosses want younger blood. New ideas. I hate doing this, but a security officer will escort you to your office and from the building. It’s what protocol dictates.”

I square my shoulders as much as my broken pride allows. “I understand. Congratulations, Brian. You deserve it.”

Toby picks up an envelope from his desk and hands it to me. “Your severance contract. You can have your lawyer look it over before signing it.” He comes to me, holding his arms open. “Love you, sugar. It’s not personal. Just business. I’ll give you a great letter of recommendation.”

My lips are numb. “Thanks.”

As I can’t think of anything else to say, I turn and leave. The eyes of the people in the meeting room burn on the back of my head as I make my way to my old desk. I can’t see them, but I feel them. I can feel their pity.

“Jane!”

Brian comes after me.

I don’t stop. I can’t. I keep on walking until I reach my office, but the door is locked. Embarrassingly, I don’t have a choice but to turn and face him. I lean on the door, not sure that my legs will carry my weight.

Brian’s expression is pained. “I was going to tell you last night,” he says, “but you weren’t in a good place.”

“I understand. Really.”

The security guard exits the stairs.

“I meant it when I said you deserve it.” I’m big enough to admit defeat. I can also give credit where it’s due.

The guard stops next to us.

I step aside so he can unlock the door. “I’ll only be a minute.” I don’t have much to collect other than a photo of Abby and a few knickknacks.

Brian follows me inside. “Talk to me, Jane.”

I scrape stupid lucky charms from client promotions into my bag. “There’s nothing else to say.”

“I didn’t want it. I told Toby I wouldn’t take it, but he was going to give the job to someone else.”

“It’s all right, Brian.”

“I reckoned I’ll need the money to take care of you if you’re going to lose your job.”

I can’t deal with this. Not right now. “You’re cut out for advertising. I’m sure you’ll be a big success.” I push past him. “I’ve got to go.”

Forcing myself not to run, I go back to the meeting room. My ex-colleagues stare at me expectantly.

“As you know, I’m out of here.” I hope my smile doesn’t look as tremulous as it feels. “Brian is taking over. I have complete faith in him. He’s an invaluable asset to the company. Don’t give him a hard time like you gave me when I started.”

Hesitant laughter erupts.

“That’s short for a departure speech,” Priscilla says.

More laughter. The atmosphere in the room lifts slightly.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Beatrix teases.

“Thanks for being an awesome team. Take care.”

Toby nods at me as I exit. “That was big of you.”

“Brian’s got a good mentor in you. Take care of him.”

The guard and Brian are standing at the door. I try to walk normally even if my heart still urges me to flee. The guard follows a step behind, saving me the humiliation of making it clear to everyone on the ground floor what’s happening.

It’s only in the parking lot that Brian calls out to me again. I ignore him. I’m fitting the key into the car door when he stops next to me. When I try to open the door, he slams a palm on it, preventing me. He searches my eyes, but I can’t look at him. Shame, humiliation, guilt…too many emotions prevent me.

“Talk to me.”

Staring at the cracked concrete, I shake my head.

“We agreed, Jane. We agreed we’d always talk. Talk, damn you. Hate me. Shout at me. Slap me. I can take it. Give it to me.”

It’s an effort to turn my head and face him. I’m so, so tired. “I don’t hate you.” If anything, I love him even more, and it hurts. It hurts that he went behind my back, but I understand why he did. If I weren’t so pigheaded about a brand that had become my baby over the years, I would’ve listened to him.

“I meant what I said back there. I’m happy for you.”

Emotions simmer in his eyes. “I’ll resign.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You’ll throw away the opportunity of a lifetime.” And you need the money to take care of Sam and your mother.

“That’s it?” he asks, his remorse morphing into anger. “You just lost your job. Don’t stand there and tell me it’s all right. I know you’re upset.”

I can’t tell him about the case Francois is building against me, or that losing my only source of income has just made Francois’ case even stronger. It’s not his fault. I won’t lay that kind of blame on his shoulders. I can only tell him I feel nothing but love for him, because I have to let him go.

Cupping his cheek, I drink him in. The stubble on his jaw pricks my palm. He smells like soap and a slightly too strong aftershave.

“I love you, Brian.” Closing my eyes, I savor the words and say them again. “I love you.” I’m so sorry for ruining your life.

I let the closure of goodbye settle in my heart, enforcing it with my guilt. It’s harder than I could’ve ever imagined. It’s like a piece of me dies. This time, he doesn’t stop me when I open the door. He doesn’t speak or move as I start the engine and put the car into gear. I don’t want to look in the rearview mirror, but I can’t help myself. My eyes are drawn to the figure standing in the mirage of heat that rolls over the concrete. Tears well up in my eyes. A hysterical sob surfaces.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

It’s no use. I can’t stop. His image blurs behind my tears. Is losing everything the price I’m paying for falling in love with Brian? If I hadn’t met him, I wouldn’t have moved to the cottage and a snake wouldn’t have spat Abby. My daughter would still be living with me. I wouldn’t have found Brian a position at Orion and Toby wouldn’t have given him my job. If Brian didn’t help me realize how unimportant the material things in my life are to my peace of mind, maybe I would’ve fought Francois with a drawn-out and expensive battle in court. Maybe I’d still have my designer house. Yes, I can lay all the maybes on Brian for coming into my life, or I can admit that Abby loves Francois more and Brian is better at my job than me. I can argue I would’ve been better off if I’d never met Brian, but that’s not true. Isn’t owning your pain the same as owning your decisions and every taboo that comes with them? As I clear the gates and his figure is brutally cut off from my vision, I know with certainty that if given a choice, I’d be the oldest cliché in the book. I’d do it all over again.

It’s not until the following day that Francois calls. I grip the phone hard, but I can’t bring myself to answer. Four, six seconds pass. The call goes onto voicemail. I’ve been making myself sick with worry, pacing all night. I haven’t eaten or slept. I’m on the brink of collapsing. I know better, but I’m incapable of taking care of myself. Sleep evades me. Food makes me vomit. I want to know, but I’m scared. Staring at the phone, I finally gather enough courage to press the redial button.

“I’ve got the results,” Francois says.

That was fast, thanks to connections. I close my eyes and hold my breath.

He utters a shaky sigh. “It’s not me.”

My heart comes to a stop. Adrenalin makes me feel nauseous. It’s the shock of both relief and dread. I get to keep Abby, but I can’t think about the meaning of the test.

Please, God, let it be Evan.

I’m shaking so badly I have to sit down. “I’m sorry.” How hard this must be on Francois.

“Me, too.” He gives a wry laugh. “The house of cards comes crumbling down.”

None of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t left. We’d still be married, and Abby would be blissfully unaware. I’d still pretend to be happy. I’m sorrier than I can ever say about what’s happened, but I’ll never regret it. The events led me to Brian. It’s the aftermath that’s a dirty disaster.

“How’s Abby taking it?” I ask.

I should’ve been there for my daughter. Keeping her from me isn’t something I’ll easily forgive Francois for, even if my heart is aching for his suffering. After all that’s happened, I can’t make myself hate him. We were friends, if nothing more. That counts for something. He loves Abby with all his heart. No matter the biology, she’s always been his daughter.

“Not well,” he replies, “but she wants to see you.”

“You can bring her home.” With the outcome of the test result, he doesn’t have a choice. “It’s over between Brian and me. She doesn’t have to worry about him being around.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m not laying charges.”

“I know.” I just hope Brian will be able to forgive me, one day. “When can you drop Abby off?”

“In an hour?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Needing to keep busy, I make cottage pie. It’s Abby’s favorite from when she was little. I drink two cups of sweet tea to settle my nerves and have something in my stomach before they arrive.

The doorbell rings on the hour. Abby stands in the doorway, her face forlorn. Francois remains a step behind with Dusty. His hands are shoved into his pockets. He’s rattling the coins in there as if he can’t keep still.

I take Abby into a hug. This time, she lets me.

“Would you like to come inside?” I ask Francois.

“Debs is waiting in the car.”

“All right.”

Abby turns to him. “Will I still see you this weekend?”

Francois goes down on his haunches to put them on eye level. “The test doesn’t change my feelings for you. You’re still my daughter.” His voice shakes. It takes him a moment to gather his control. “As we said, your room is always there.”

She throws her arms around him. “I love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, baby.”

He blinks tears away before he gives me a hasty nod and hurries down the path to the garden gate.

I put my arm around my daughter and lead her into the house. Dusty follows, sniffing as he goes.

“Would you like to see your new room?”

She shrugs. “I guess.”

“I realize there’s much to talk about. We’ll get through this. I promise you.”

She pulls away from my touch. “I want to know.”

“Abby.” I was hoping, praying, she wouldn’t go there, but I knew better.

“I want to know, Mom.”

I reply with a tired sigh. “I understand.” I’d feel the same if I were in her shoes. “There are other things you need to know, honey.”

She gives me a wary look.

“Let’s go to the kitchen. I’m making pecan nut pie for dessert. There’s cottage pie for lunch if you’re hungry.”

She shakes her head but follows me to the kitchen. After settling Dusty in the basket I left in a sunny corner, we sit down at the counter I’ve converted into a breakfast nook. Dusty doesn’t stay long before he starts exploring again. I pour two glasses of iced tea and put one in front of her.

“Did your dad tell you anything about when you were conceived?”

“We only spoke about the test results.”

Taking a deep breath, I steel myself to go down memory lane to a place I’d sworn I’d never revisit.

“Before your dad and I got together, I was engaged to someone else. His name was Evan.”

“Dorothy’s son.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you marry him?”

“He died.”

She watches me with rigid concentration, not moving or blinking.

“The night he died was his father’s birthday. There was a party at the house. I went with Evan. Close to midnight, Evan was called out on an emergency job. He was a plumber, you see. I decided to stay and wait for him, so I hung out with his younger brother, Benjamin. We were in the same class at university.” I swallow, choosing my words carefully. I want to relay this as undramatically as possible. “Benjamin and I ended up sleeping together.”

“You slept with your fiancé’s brother?” she asks with disbelief.

“Yes.”

“What did Evan do?”

“He said he needed to go out to cool down. I think he was afraid of hurting his brother. He was very angry when he left.” My voice trembles at the recollection. “So angry he crashed his motorbike.”

“That’s how he died?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. That’s tough. I’m sorry, Mom.”

“So am I. More than you can ever know.”

“Then my biological father can be Evan or Benjamin.”

“That’s right.”

“When did Dad come into the picture?”

“We got together two days after Evan’s death. I was very sad, and Francois was there for me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not a pretty history. For obvious reasons, both Francois and I tried hard to forget.”

She studies her hands. “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. Before the divorce, it didn’t seem worth upsetting your life. I’m even sorrier you had to find out the way you did.”

“Dad knew?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes brim with tears. “Who else knows that I was a mistake?”

I cup her cheek. “Oh, honey, you’re not a mistake. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

“Who else except for Dorothy and Dad, Mom?”

“Only Loretta. We were best friends. I confided in no one else.”

She pales. “Do you think she told Jordan?”

“I don’t know, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. I love you, and I’m proud of you. I’ll never give you up for anything.”

“Not even for Brian?”

“We’re not seeing each other, any longer.”

“You broke up with him?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sad?”

“You come first, honey. Always. I love you so much.” I add carefully, “Do you want to talk about Brian and you?”

“I already told Debs and Dad everything. I don’t want to talk about it, anymore.”

“Okay. We don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready.”

“Has Benjamin agreed to a test?”

Thank God she can’t see how every bone in my body is rattling. “I wanted to speak to you first.”

“Will you ask him?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want.”

“Then I’ll speak to him.”

Nodding, she hops off the chair. “Can you please show me my room? I’m really tired. I’d like to rest.”

Concern flares in my chest. “How’s your eyes?”

“Fine. My vision doesn’t blur any longer. It’s just been a rough week.”

“Of course. Come, I’ll show you.”

She calls for Dusty, who appears from under one of the armchairs.

She arrived with no bag, but most of her clothes are still with me, and I stocked the bathroom with everything she’ll need.

Upstairs, I show her the two bedrooms and bathroom.

“This one is yours.” I open the door to the sunny room. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” she says unenthusiastically. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can Dusty stay in my room?”

“Sure. Come down when you’re hungry. I’ll keep the food warm.”

Closing the door, I give her the space she needs and take a moment to find my balance. I’m utterly grateful my baby is home, but a piece of my heart is missing. I’ve lost my joie de vivre, but all it takes to carry on is putting one foot in front of the other. I go back to the kitchen and finish the pie. Then I call Dorothy.

“How are you?” she asks.

“The test is negative.”

“Dear God.”

I give her a moment to digest the news. This is huge. She’s a grandmother to someone other than Benjamin’s son. She must’ve toyed with the idea as much as I have through the years, even if we never allowed ourselves to say it out loud. Maybe she respected my decision not to talk about it too much. Maybe she believed it was in Abby’s best interest. Maybe she was scared, like me. Maybe she felt guilty.

“Is Abby back with you?”

“Yes.”

“How’s she taking the news about Francois?”

“Not well.”

“Jane, I’m sorry.”

“I’d like to speak with Benjamin, please.”

She sucks in a breath. “I always knew it would come to this. I always hoped you’d find it in your heart to talk it over, but not like this.”

I don’t reply. What is there to say?

“I’ll get him for you,” she says with resignation.

When his voice comes on the line, I have to close my eyes at the repulsion pushing up in my chest.

“Hello, Jane.”

“I need to see you.”

“I know. Come over. I’m not leaving for rehearsal until six.”

“Today? My daughter just got back. I was thinking next week.” Abby can do with another week before we go through the next traumatic experience.

“Today.”

The line goes dead.

My throat is dry. My heart is beating too fast. I fill a glass with water from the tap. I’m staring through the window as I down it, seeing nothing but the past. Facing Benjamin will be facing what happened. There’s a good reason I’ve been avoiding him all these years. Not only will I have to face the awful truth, but also Evan’s death all over again. The reason why he died. I don’t realize how hard I’m gripping the counter until a nail breaks, tearing into the skin.

“Dammit.” I open the tap and hold my bleeding nail under the stream of water.

“Are you okay?” Abby asks from the door.

I school my features before I turn back to her. “Yes. I just broke a nail. Are you ready for lunch?”

“I’ll try to eat something.”

“Good.”

I dish up a hearty portion and set her a place at the table before filling Dusty’s bowl with kibbles.

“Aren’t you eating?” she asks.

“I had a big breakfast,” I lie. The truth is I may vomit if I take one bite before facing Benjamin.

“Do you miss him?”

“What?”

“You’re staring into space,” Abby says. “Do you miss Brian?”

I cup her hand from across the table. “I have a lot on my mind, that’s all. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Like finding a new job. Like settling in this house. Making a home of it. Like finding out who Abby’s father is.

I can’t take Abby with me to Dorothy’s house, not when confronting Benjamin, and I’m not welcome at Loretta’s. Asking Francois to look after Abby for the afternoon when he’s just dropped her won’t seem right. He’ll really think I’m not a fit mother, but I don’t have anyone else to turn to.

“I’m going to see Benjamin,” I say.

She looks up from a forkful of food. “To ask him to take the test?”

“Yes. Do you mind staying with Debbie for a while?” I add, “If she agrees.”

“Of course not. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

I pat her hand. “Eat up. I’ll call her after lunch.”

The locket I gave her for her birthday catches the light. I trace the engraving on the heart. “This suits you so well.” Catching it between my fingers, I press on the mechanism to unlock it. The pendant falls open to reveals two miniature photos, perfectly aligned. Francois and Debbie.

What this does to me, I can’t begin to describe. How could I have failed so badly when I love her so much? Where did I go wrong?

“Yes, it’s pretty.” She pulls it from my hand and closes it.

It’s as if a needle twists under my nail. The pain of my own daughter’s rejection is unbearable. Am I doing the right thing by keeping Abby? Is this the best for Abby or me?

Putting those questions away for later, I focus on what needs to be done today. One thing at a time. That’s how we’ll get through this.

Debbie agrees readily enough to let Abby stay for the afternoon when I explain where I’m going. Just before teatime, I stop at Dorothy’s house. She meets me at the door with a hug.

“Come.” She takes my arm. “He’s in the study.”

We walk down the hallway, our steps muffled by the familiar Persian carpet.

At the door, she pauses. “Would you like something to drink? Maybe a cup of tea?”

“Yes, please.”

I don’t want tea, but I sense Dorothy needs something to keep her busy. When she’s making her way to the kitchen, I knock and enter.

Seeing Benjamin standing behind his late father’s desk almost makes me stumble. It’s like a punch in the stomach. He hasn’t changed much, except for the grey hair creeping into his sideburns. He’s dressed in a dark suit, holding a glass of amber liquid. His black hair is slicked back, and his face is still as smooth as candlewax. His slender frame is relaxed, but his green eyes are chilling. Cold. He’s always been the opposite of Evan in everything. Evan was tanned, muscled, and good with his hands. His disposition was carefree and fun-loving. Benjamin is the silent, brooding, artistic one.

I close the door with a click, leaning against the wood for a moment to find my courage.

“I expected you,” he says. “When Francois left you, I knew it would come to this.”

“To what?”

“Pushing me into a corner when you no longer have a family to protect.”

“This is for Abby. She wants to know. She has a right to know.”

He puts the glass down on the desk. “It’s not going to happen.”

My fear and discomfort make way for anger. “I’m not asking.”

He smiles. “Are you threatening me?”

“If you don’t go willingly, I’ll get a court order.”

We stare at each for an immeasurable moment. We both know what getting a court order implies. I’ll have to tell the truth of what happened that night. The world will know why Evan really died, that the fight I had with my fiancé as the newspapers reported was only a smokescreen. This is how far I’m willing to go for Abby. I’ll even break my promise to Dorothy.

“You see,” he picks up an envelope and rounds the desk, “I had the foresight to predict this exact moment.” He pushes the envelope into my hands. His voice is eerily soft. “It’s not going to happen.”

“What is this?” Bribe money?

“Open it.”

His smug look warns me not to, but I don’t have a choice, not if want to know why he looks like he’s just announced checkmate.

Lifting the flap, I pull out a stack of photos. They fan out in my hand, some dropping to the floor. At first, the images don’t register. Slowly, the reality kicks me in the teeth.

No.

It’s an image of me in sheer green lingerie, tied to my bed in the most compromising position. Nothing is spared. One breast is spilling over a bra cup, and the crotch of the panties is pulled aside. My most private parts are on display. My make-up is smeared, and my hair is a mess. I look fuck-ruffled and cock-whipped. A whore. There’s no other word for it. Shame engulfs me. If I’ve been feeling sick earlier, I now feel like dying. Of all the people to see me like this, Benjamin is the worst. He saw me naked once, but the photo feels like the biggest violation of all. It leaves me more vulnerable, more shattered than the time he touched me, because he stole something that was special to me and defiled it. He stole every good impression I’ve had of Brian and disillusioned me. That’s the hardest part to take. That and having him witness my mortification as realization washes over me.

Brian betrayed me.

I’ve been such a fool.

Even as my insides cringe and my heart slows to a painful thump, I refuse to show Benjamin what the image does to me. I flip through the rest of the photos. Each is of the same scene, of me with a different expression. Ecstasy. Screaming as I’m coming. My ass being spanked. Brian’s cock is visible, but not his face. I force myself to go through the pictures, one by one. The most humiliating are the ones where I’m simultaneously being fucked by a vibrator and penis. Brian’s penis. The blood drains from my head, leaving me lightheaded. I’m sick to my stomach. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak.

Anger laces every molecule in my body as I look back at him, anger and the worst kind of betrayal. A lover’s betrayal. It feels as if my guts are being shredded. The fortuneteller’s prediction crashes into my memory, as clear as yesterday. A lover’s betrayal. Be careful who you trust.

“Where did you get this?” I ask, my voice steady despite how the rest of me trembles, already knowing the horrific answer and praying to God it isn’t so.

His smile is mocking. “I think you know.”

I bend to pick up the photos from the carpet, taking my time to collect each one and slipping them back into the envelope. Facing him with a calm I don’t feel, I say, “Are you blackmailing me?”

“I have a family. I’m a world-famous musician. I’m not about to sacrifice my career for a scandal, or my wife and son for your daughter’s ease of mind. If you get a court order or spill as much as a word about that night, these go public. I have more photos. I have films. I have you in every fuckable position possible. The world will see what a slut you are. You can say whatever you want about me, but you seduced me. We’ll see who they believe.”

Slipping the envelope into my bag, I turn for the door.

His words follow me out. “Have a nice life, Jane.”

I don’t go to the kitchen to tell Dorothy I’m leaving. I walk straight to my car and start the engine. I know where I have to go.