We had just walked out of the hospital after my prenatal checkup when Zane Gilbert handed me a card for a back-alley clinic.
“Paige, I went with you for the checkup, so that's done. Now find some time to get rid of the baby.”
I froze. My brain couldn't catch up to his words.
Then I saw him smile as he pulled out a red marriage certificate.
“The girl was making too much of a fuss, so I went ahead and got the license with her first.”
“As for yours? I paid someone to forge it.”
“You wouldn't want the kid to end up an illegitimate child, same as you, right?”
“Be good. Get rid of it. Better for everyone.”
A high-pitched ringing flooded my ears. I heard my own voice, hollow with disbelief.
“What girl?”
“The one you brought back from your volunteer teaching trip. On her eighteenth birthday, she slipped something into your drink and climbed into my bed.”
“I couldn't resist, so I went along with it.”
Zane shrugged it off with a careless smile, then kept going.
“Your mother was the other woman, so you've got experience with this, don't you?”
“A mistress's daughter becomes a mistress. Beautiful tradition, isn't it?”
——
Standing outside the hospital, I felt every drop of blood in my body turn to ice.
I searched his familiar face, desperate to find some trace that this was a joke.
But then.
The cruel curve of his lips stretched wider.
“Paige, I'll send you five hundred bucks for the abortion.”
“I hear that's how mistresses handle it. Find some back-alley clinic, pop a few pills, and it's done.”
“Spend whatever's left on those strawberries you love so much.”
“Just don't bring them home. The girl can't stand the smell of strawberries, and I don't want my wife to be uncomfortable in any way.”
He bit down hard on the word wife.
I listened to him speak and felt my mind go blank.
Last night, when I told him I was pregnant, giddy with happiness.
He had held me in his arms, scrolling through his phone, picking out baby names.
How had today become this?
The absurdity of it filled my chest. Instinctively, I convinced myself there had to be some misunderstanding.
I forced a smile and grabbed his hand, frantic.
“Zane, you're joking, right?”
“Is there some kind of misunderstanding? Just tell me. Please.”
But I didn't even finish.
He covered his mouth and tipped his head back, laughing.
“Paige Swanson, what kind of innocent act are you putting on?”
“Your mother was my father's mistress. She caused my mother's car accident. Left her in a vegetative state.”
“You didn't actually think I'd marry you for real, did you?”
“The thing I hate most in this life is a homewrecker.”
The venom drained from his voice. Then, gently, he straightened my collar.
“Go to the address on that card. Get it taken care of. I'll be waiting for you at home.”
“The girl's coming home tonight. Get back early and make that sweet-and-sour fish she likes.”
Still smiling, giving instructions, he reached into his bag and pulled out a few hundred-dollar bills.
“Oh, and the condoms at home? I used them all last night with the girl back at school.”
“Pick up a few more boxes. We'll need them tonight.”
Every word sliced deeper than the last. I stood there shaking.
In that instant, I felt my blood stop moving.
Five years together. Zane had cut ties with his own father just to be with me.
He'd grown up pampered, handed everything. But to spare me any hardship,
he went to classes during the day and delivered food and hauled bricks on construction sites at night.
After graduation, just to rent an apartment near my office,
he forced down an entire bottle of liquor despite being deathly allergic to alcohol, and ended up rushed to the ER.
In his sleep, he would murmur my name over and over, carefully pulling the blanket up over my shoulders.
Was all of that a lie?
