by Violet Haze
Snatching her hand, I grasp it tight in mine to do the most stupid thing I can, which is state the obvious in an incredulous tone. “You married him.”
“I did.” She yanks her hand from my hold and places it on the cart again with a smirk. “Is there anything else?”
“Why?”
“Because I need to get home—”
I step closer and cut her off with a single shake of my head. “No. You came to my place, said it was over to the point you needed a place to stay, and now you’ve married him? Why?”
She straightens up and leans in until our faces nearly meet, with the angriest expression I’ve ever seen on her face as she hisses, “I married him two weeks ago. Why? The better question is, why not? I came to you, you made it clear I wasn’t welcome, and I decided the best thing to do was to go back to the life I had; to forget you ever showed back up in it.”
I don’t need this in my life, not when I need to focus on Rose, yet I can’t resist the fire and obvious agony in her eyes. Lifting my right hand, I cup her cheek in my head and watch her anger war with the feelings she doesn’t want to have as I murmur, “And how’s that going for you? Go on, lie to me if that’s what you need to get through the day.”
When she doesn’t move away, I prepare for all sorts of her response scenarios such as a smack, yet nothing prepares me for the sudden death of the fire in her eyes, only to be replaced with enough ice to kill me were it real.
“You know what I wish?” She whispers while stepping back, my fingers skimming her face until finally they no longer touch her, and our gazes lock as she slaps me with the unexpected vehemence of her words. “Instead of wishing I knew what might’ve happened between us, now I merely want to have never met you at all, and I ask that you act as that is the truth if or when you feel the urge to approach me again in the future.”
Similar to the night at my house, she rushes away without letting me reply and leaves me standing there wondering how the hell my apology had derailed into receiving that from her.
And as I resume shopping a few minutes later, I’m not sure what pisses me off more…the fact I don’t know if her words were a lie, or how I’m bothered by the fact she got married.
Either way, there’s nothing I can do besides give her exactly what she asked for, and telling myself we never met at all is precisely what I do before continuing on with the rest of my day.
8
Darcy
Oliver steps into the kitchen after I arrive home and presses a kiss to my bared shoulder before walking over to the grocery bags on the counter. “Did you get everything?”
“Yes. I had to go to a few places to find a few of the items, but it’s all there.”
“Ah,” he said without glancing at me, all his focus on emptying the bags for tonight’s important dinner with his boss, which he hopes will finally lead to a much-deserved promotion. “I wondered what was taking longer than usual.”
It wasn’t locating the groceries that kept me, but I don’t say that.
“Well, it’s all there,” I tell him instead and close my eyes with a sigh before forcing them open. “I’m going to need a nap before this dinner, so if you don’t need my help…?”
He makes a dismissive motion with his hand and tosses a smile at me. “Nope, go on. I’ll wake you later in time to get ready.”
No need to respond as he starts moving around the kitchen, so I head toward the bedroom, pushing down the straps of my sundress while shutting the door with my foot.
The tears I’ve been holding back since running into Zachary finally make their way out and slide down my cheeks while the ache in my chest builds to an almost unbearable degree.
His sudden appearance in the store caught me off guard.
I shouldn’t have said those awful things to him. Yes, he had been apologizing for the terrible things he’d said to me but the look on his face when he realized I married Oliver had made my already shitty morning worse.
Combined with the way he had gripped my hand as if he wanted to rip the rings off, I could’ve sworn at that moment he was upset at the unexpected news.
For a second, I had enjoyed his apparent jealousy, but only for that brief instant before the reality of my situation made it imperative we both shove aside whatever was between us. And I hadn’t known how to make him do that without being mean because when I’m nice for even a moment, we end up close…something we can never be again.
But now, I regret my words, because I don’t want to have never met him and would never actually wish for it either. And the part of me that’s always wondered about the life I might’ve had is still there, something that hasn’t changed since a few weeks after I made an irrevocable decision. Especially after my parents made it clear nothing I did would ever earn their forgiveness for my indiscretion with the boy whose name they would never allow to pass their lips — or mine for the rest of the time I remained at home.
To this day, I’ve yet to forgive them for…well, everything, and I doubt I ever will.
Swiping at the tears on my face, I take a deep breath and head into the master bathroom while wearing nothing more than my bra and panties, all while hoping Zach will forgive me one day, at least, for what I put him through.
Then, I make myself stop thinking about him and crouch down to pull out the bag I hid earlier from the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink. Rising, I close the door as quiet as I can and pull the box out from the bag, staring down at the pregnancy test with newfound tears.
I’m a few days late, and that’s only ever happened one time before, so I need to find out in case the stress of not knowing is making my period even later.
Yanking down my panties, I take a seat on the toilet, tear open the box, and rip the foil on the test to take it out. Then, I pee on the stick as instructed, replace the cap, and place it on the counter before finishing up.
The results don’t take long.
Two pink, solid lines stare me in the face when I straighten up from tugging my underwear back up and, from this moment on, I know nothing will ever be the same even as my chest begins to prick with panic.
It isn’t even the fact I’m going to have a baby. No. It’s having spent the last two weeks wondering if I made a mistake in marrying Oliver because I couldn’t get Zach off my mind no matter how much I tried.
But then, I woke up feeling sick to my stomach and finally realized my period was late.
And the test confirms that, mistake or not, there’s no turning back now because I want this child to grow up with an intact family, where both parents give their all.
For better or worse, this is my life, and I’m facing it head on in a way I should’ve all those years ago instead of fearing the changes to come.
So I dry my tears, take another deep breath while grabbing the test, and then head to the kitchen to tell Oliver we’re going to be parents.
Everything changes for the better in mine and Oliver’s relationship after discovering we’re having a baby.
Two days after dinner with his boss, he came home and took me in his arms, whirling me around with excitement at landing the promotion, and immediately said, “Now to buy a house so we can raise our family outside the city.”
I haven’t thought about leaving the city since arriving here, but I agreed with his idea, as the lure of having our own house with a yard without the noise of neighbors and cars at all hours of the night was too big to ignore.
So here we stand in one of the most beautiful houses I’ve ever seen, thirty minutes outside of town, and one look at Oliver’s face reveals he likes it as much as I do.
The realtor talks as she guides us through the first floor and then leads us to the second. Oliver holds my hand, squeezing it and winking at me when she says, “Four beds and two baths,” at which point he catches her eye and comments, “Sounds perfect for a growing family like ours.”
Understanding his meaning, she agrees with a bright smile and begins to talk up all the features more, taking consi
derable delight in pointing out the two acres of land surrounding the house as we walk back down the steps that land us back in the foyer.
Oliver’s phone rings then. He pulls it out of pocket and after glancing at the screen, tosses an apologetic smile at both of us. “I need to take this. I’ll be just a moment.”
As he walks off toward the kitchen, I grimace at the lady and say, “Sorry.”
She shakes her head with a laugh. “Don’t worry about it, hon. Happens all the time, usually with the husbands. Now,” she says with a quick glimpse around us. “Do you have any questions or anything you want to see again?”
“No, thank you. It’s just…” I take a deep breath and indicate the whole house with a wave of my hand. “I would love to live here. This house is stunning.”
“Isn’t it? The last custom home we have to offer. The architect held onto this one for quite a while but finally allowed us to put it up for sale a few days ago although it was built two years ago.”
That’s a big gap. “Oh, wow.”
“Yes. We all thought he would move in with his family, but I guess now they’re getting divorced.” She blushes when I lift my eyebrow at her sharing this and turns toward the door, then laughs before clearing her throat. “Speaking of him, he’s here now to sign the final papers. If you’ll give me a few moments?”
“Sure. I need to sit down anyway.” Heading back toward the living room as she nods at me while opening the door, I find one of the comfortable wingback chairs they’re using to furnish the house for show and take a seat.
I close my eyes, listening to her soft laughter and the barely audible rumble of the architect’s voice, only for them to fly open at his much louder, “What?” because I know that voice. And he isn’t happy in the slightest at whatever she’s just told him, which I’m sure was about who’s here looking at this house.
At the sound of heavy footsteps heading this way, I scramble up out of the chair, on my feet a mere moment before Zach storms into the room and glares at me from where he stands in the doorway.
“You’re not buying this house,” he declares as the realtor walks up beside him, confusion all over his face as he points at me and turns his face to hers. “No sale.”
“No need to be a dick, Zach.” I cross my arms over my chest as she gasps and he returns to scowling in my direction, his eyes hard and matching the bitter twist of his lips. “I didn’t know you were an architect, let alone that you designed this house.”
“Bullshit.” He takes a step forward and then glances back at the realtor. “I’d like to talk to…her for a minute, alone.”
“Uh, sure. I’ll see if your husband is done,” she says to me, her eyes rounded as she rushes off toward the kitchen, visibly upset at the animosity between Zach and me.
He lashes into me the moment she’s gone. Although he doesn’t step any closer, each word is a slap of its own. “What fucking game are you playing, Darcy? Forget you exist? Pretend we never met? How the fuck am I supposed to do that when you’re standing in my house?”
As much as I hate it, my voice comes out hushed as tears cloud my vision, even as I want to shout that it won’t be his house much longer if he’s selling it. “I didn’t know it had anything to do with you, I swear. Oliver saw the listing yesterday and brought me here as a surprise.”
Both his brows rise as he finally takes a step closer. “You searched for me, found my address, and didn’t notice I’m the most sought-after architect in the entire fucking state?”
“No.” I talk louder, finding my own anger inside me and letting it free once more. “No, I didn’t. I was too pissed at your treatment to give a fuck about anything more than coming to your house and doing something about it instead of caring about what you do for a living.”
His hands fall to his sides, some of the ire on his face replaced with remorse as he sighs and says, “I’m sorry. After what you said, I thought you were fucking with me by coming here.”
“How insulting. I’m not a goddamned child nor am I that petty and I never have been.”
Nothing except guilt on his face now. “I know. I—”
“Do you?” Interrupting, I take a step to the side and then hold up my hand when he attempts to get closer, making sure he sees the rings glinting in the sun because I don’t like the sudden look in his eyes. “I’m married, Zach. My husband is in the kitchen. We’re going to have a baby. I don’t have the inclination, let alone the time to spite you—”
“What?” His face goes ashen, a reaction I don’t understand at all because it’s truly the one thing that has nothing to do with him. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yes.” I shake my head when he opens his mouth. “No, whatever you’re going to say, don’t. As soon as Oliver gets back, I’ll tell him I don’t want this house, and we’ll find another. Just…leave before he comes back, please.”
He strides forward at that, stopping in front of me before I can react to his approach, and lifts a hand to cradle my cheek as he smiles. The next words he speaks are soft and filled with an affection I haven’t heard from his mouth since we were teenagers. “Congratulations, Darcy. I wish you two all the best, and you can have the house if you want it.”
Such a sudden change from the way he’s been behaving, making me wonder what the hell is happening and I want to ask him to tell me. I also should apologize, but the chance for either of those things to happen is prevented.
At the sound of the realtor’s heels clicking against the floor as she returns, we spring away from one another even though we weren’t doing anything wrong. Zach turns away and takes a few steps, but I make a misstep in my own heels when I go to sit back down, catching the corner of the carpet with my foot and barely managing to gasp before the wooden floor is rushing up at me.
The sound of Oliver shouting my name reaches my ears at the same time my head meets the corner of the coffee table on the way down, and everything goes dark before I’ve even hit the ground.
For a little while, I hear people talking around me, yet I can’t make out anything in particular.
Then, suddenly, everything around me is silent, and the pain in my head is intense. I lift a hand to rub where I remember the table hitting me, only to find nothing wrong with it. Not even a bump.
Stranger than that, I’m not lying on the hard carpet covered floor, but a soft bed. Thinking I must’ve been out longer than a few minutes, I’m just about to open my eyes when someone touches me.
The hand — which seems pretty small so can’t be Zach or Oliver’s — pushes on my shoulder once, then again before a boy’s voice mumbles something I’m certain definitely shouldn’t be directed at me. “Wake up, Mom.”
Gasping, I force my eyes open and sit up straight, whipping my head to the left to see who the hell thinks I’m their mother…and stare right into the vivid blue eyes of a boy with blond hair who can’t be more than ten years old.
A kid who looks a little like me and a lot like Zach and who appears around the age our child would be.
This can’t be real.
I pinch myself, hoping this a dream, and I’ll wake up from how hard I do it, but no. I feel the pinch with every part of me, and suddenly, it’s clear something has gone suddenly, terribly wrong.
And instead of screaming or breaking into sobs — don’t want to freak him out even if I want to myself — I swallow hard, smile at the kid and ask, “Where’s your dad?”
“Making breakfast.”
He says this as if I should know the answer and without waiting for me to respond, he leaves the room.
Climbing out of bed, I look down and discover I’m wearing the ugliest pair of fuzzy pajama’s sporting rabbits I’ve ever seen. Walking over to the full-length mirror by the dresser, a sigh of relief rushes out at seeing my appearance is the same, although the circles under my eyes might indicate I either didn’t sleep well last night, or it’s a chronic problem.
Something tells me it’s the latter.
Opening the drawers,
I try to find something I don’t hate to wear, and eventually pull out a tank, bra, and a nice pair of skinny jeans. Only the sight of my slightly curved belly when I take off my shirt means the jeans I took out seconds ago won’t fit…and that I’m at least four months pregnant instead of just one.
None of this makes sense, and it’s getting more disturbing by the second.
I put on the bra and tank, rummage through the drawer until a loose pair of yoga pants fit my requirements, and pull them on before heading out my door to find out what the fuck is going on, as I’ve apparently lost my mind.
My answer doesn’t show up even when I arrive in the kitchen. No, it gets worse when I see the little boy standing by the stove next to Oliver and Zach isn’t anywhere in sight.
Yet nothing prepares me for seeing my mother sitting at the center island as if she belongs there, talking to what appears to be a little girl who can’t be more than three years old and has hair as red as mine.
Many things come to mind for me to say, and to ask, but the only thing I can manage is an angry question through my clenched teeth, “What the fuck are you doing here, Mother?”
Her head jerks up at the same time Oliver turns around, his own expression filled with shock, but I hear nothing when his mouth moves as sudden wooziness causes me to wobble where I stand and for what feels like the second time in minutes, I pass out on my way to the floor.
Part II
What Might’ve Been
9
Darcy
“Is she drunk?”
The sound of my mother’s voice asking that as I come to ruins any chance of her being a figment of my imagination and I decide to wait a little longer to let them know I’m awake, hoping this will all fade away.