Chapter 4 Chapter 4
Chapter 4
SELENE
I saw him open his mouth, but I didn't wait to hear what he would say. I couldn't bear it—not his apology, not his excuses, not the guilt that was surely replacing his anger.
I turned and walked toward my parents' graves, my legs shaking but carrying me forward. Behind me, I heard Amily say something soft to Michael, heard his sharp exhale.
But I didn't look back.
I knelt between my parents' headstones, placed the lilies carefully at the base of my mother's grave, and finally let myself break down completely. My hands pressed against the cold granite, and I wept for everything I'd lost—my parents, my dignity, my hope that Michael might someday love me.
And I wept for the child growing inside me, who would be born into this broken marriage, this impossible situation.
"I don't know what to do," I whispered to the silent stones. "Please, tell me what to do."
But the dead, as always, had no answers to give.
The drive home from the cemetery was a blur. I don't remember getting into my car or navigating the familiar streets back to the house. My mind kept replaying the confrontation, Derek's accusations, the way he'd looked at me with such contempt. The way he'd immediately rushed to Jasmine's side when she stumbled, while I stood there invisible, my pain inconsequential.
I pulled into the circular driveway, the massive house looming before me like a beautiful prison. Two years I'd lived here, and it had never felt like home. It was Derek's house, filled with Derek's things, decorated to Derek's taste. I was just another piece of furniture—necessary but unappreciated.
My hands were still shaking as I unlocked the front door. The foyer was cool and dim, afternoon light filtering through the tall windows. I dropped my keys into the crystal dish on the hall table, and that's when I saw it.
A cream-colored envelope, thick and expensive, embossed with gold lettering. The Sterling Foundation crest gleamed in the light. I picked it up with trembling fingers, already knowing what it was before I opened it.
You are cordially invited to the Annual Sterling Foundation Gala.
Mr. and Mrs. Derek Sterling.
The words blurred as fresh tears welled in my eyes. Mrs. Derek Sterling. That's who I was supposed to be—the perfect wife, the gracious hostess, the woman who stood by her husband's side and smiled for the cameras. The woman who pretended not to notice when her husband looked at someone else with longing in his eyes.
I sank onto the bottom step of the grand staircase, the invitation clutched in my hand. The Sterling Foundation Gala was the social event of the season—hundreds of the city's elite gathering to celebrate charity and write impressive checks. Derek's grandmother, Rosalie, had founded the organization decades ago, and she ruled over the annual gala like a queen presiding over her court.
There would be no escaping this. Rosalie would expect me there, perfectly dressed, perfectly coiffed, playing the role of the devoted wife. The thought made me physically ill.
I looked down at my stomach, still flat, still hiding the secret growing inside me. How long could I keep this pregnancy hidden? Already, the morning sickness was getting worse. Soon I'd start to show. Soon everyone would know.
What would Derek say then? Would he accuse me of trapping him, of trying to bind him to me more permanently? Or would he simply see the baby as another obligation, another burden his grandmother had placed on his shoulders?
You've already saddled me with a wife, and now you want to add a child?
His words from that phone call echoed in my mind, sharp and cutting. No, Derek didn't want this baby. He didn't want me. And a gala where we'd have to pretend otherwise for hours on end felt like torture.
I forced myself to stand, to climb the stairs to our bedroom. I needed to lie down, to process everything that had happened today. But as I passed Derek's study, I noticed his laptop open on the desk, the screen saver cycling through photos.
I shouldn't have looked. I knew I shouldn't. But my feet carried me forward anyway.
The photos were from years ago—Derek and Jasmine, young and carefree. Derek laughing at something she'd said, his arm around her shoulders. Jasmine looking up at him with adoration. The two of them at a beach somewhere, sun-kissed and happy. The kind of happiness I'd never seen on Derek's face when he looked at me.
I closed the laptop quickly, feeling sick. Of course he kept photos of her. Of course he looked at them when I wasn't around, remembering what he'd lost when his grandmother had arranged our marriage.
In our bedroom, I collapsed onto the bed fully clothed, too exhausted to even change. My phone buzzed—a text from Sarah.
How are you doing? I've been worried about you since last night.
I typed back: Saw Derek at the cemetery. With Jasmine. It was awful.
Her response came quickly: Oh honey, I'm so sorry. Do you want me to come over?
No, I just need to sleep. But thank you.
I'm here if you need me. Love you.
Love you too.
I set the phone aside and stared at the ceiling. The baby. The gala. Derek. Jasmine. My parents. It all swirled together in my mind, an impossible tangle I couldn't unravel.
Sleep claimed me eventually, a restless sleep filled with dreams of white lilies and cold gravestones and Derek's voice saying over and over: You've already saddled me with a wife.
\---
I woke to the sound of the bedroom door opening. The room was dark now—I'd slept for hours. Derek stood silhouetted in the doorway, his tie loosened, his jacket slung over one arm.
"You're home," I said, my voice rough from sleep and crying.
He flipped on the bedside lamp, and I blinked against the sudden light. His expression was carefully neutral, the mask he wore when he was about to say something he didn't want to say.
"We need to talk," he said.
I sat up, smoothing down my wrinkled clothes. "Alright."
He sat on the edge of the bed, maintaining careful distance between us. "About today. At the cemetery." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I may have... overreacted."
May have. The understatement would have been funny if it weren't so painful.
"I didn't realize your parents were buried there," he continued, his voice stiff and formal. "I apologize for my accusations. It was inappropriate."