Chapter 63 The weight of rain
The sky had finally broken. The silver-grey clouds that had been looming over the city all morning collapsed, releasing a torrential, sideways rain that turned the world into a blurred, watery cage. By the time my ride pulled up to the curb, the gutters were already overflowing, the water rushing toward the drains with a frantic, hollow gurgle.
I stepped out of the car, my summer dress—once light and airy—now clinging to my skin like a cold, wet second skin. I didn't run. I didn't have the energy. I walked up the driveway with the heavy, leaden stride of someone who had just seen a ghost and realized the ghost was more human than they were prepared for.
As I reached the porch, I saw Maya. she was struggling with a heavy wicker basket, her hair plastered to her forehead as she tried to salvage the last of the laundry from the line. The scent of rain-damp cotton and ozone filled the air, sharp and grounding.
"El! You're soaking!" Maya shouted over the roar of the downpour. "Help me with this handle, the wind is catching it!"
I reached out, my fingers numb as I gripped the rough wicker. Together, we hoisted the basket into the small mudroom, kicking the door shut against the storm. The sudden silence of the house was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic drum-drum-drum of the rain against the corrugated roof.
Maya dropped her end of the basket and turned to me, her breath hitching as she saw my face. The makeup I had carefully applied for the "confrontation" was a smeared, grey mess. My eyes were bloodshot, and I was shaking—not just from the cold, but from the sheer, soul-crushing weight of Liam’s words.
"Elena? What happened at the restaurant?" Maya asked, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper. She reached out, grabbing a dry towel from the top of the basket and draping it over my shivering shoulders. "Did she hurt you? Did that woman say something else?"
I sank onto the small wooden bench in the mudroom, my head dropping into my hands. "It wasn't just her, Maya. Liam was there."
"Liam?" Maya’s jaw dropped. "He’s barely out of a coma! What was he doing at The Silver Oak?"
"Being a martyr," I choked out, a bitter laugh escaping my throat. "Being the 'better man' I never thought he was."
"Sit," Maya commanded, grabbing my arm and leading me into the kitchen. She bypassed the tea and went straight for the kettle, her movements quick and protective. "Tell me everything. From the second you sat down."
I sat at the kitchen table, the same place where I had celebrated the ultrasound news only hours before. Now, the sonogram felt like a heavy secret tucked away in my bag. I told her about the disgust in Mrs. Jenkins’ eyes. I told her about the moment I claimed Victor’s child as my own. And then, I told her about Liam’s defense.
"He said he was helping her, Maya," I whispered, my voice trembling. "He said Monica’s husband was beating her. That she miscarried because of the abuse. He said he was just the only one who would come through for her when she called."
Maya stopped mid-motion, the kettle whistling softly on the stove. She turned around, her expression a mix of skepticism and sudden, jarring doubt. "He said... what? El, that sounds like a classic Liam Jenkins script. He always had a way of making himself the hero of a story where he was the villain."
"But his eyes, Maya," I argued, the guilt I had felt at the restaurant resurfacing with a vengeance. "He looked so broken. Not just physically. He looked at me like I was the one who had betrayed him. He said he loved me. He said he was trying to build a better future for us, even if he couldn't 'reach Victor's level.'"
"And you believe him?" Maya asked, setting a steaming mug of ginger tea in front of me.
"I don't know!" I cried, my voice cracking. "That’s the problem. I’ve spent months hating him. I’ve spent months thinking he was a monster who traded me for a married woman. But if he was telling the truth... if he was really just trying to save someone... then I’ve been the one holding the knife this whole time. I’ve been building a life with Victor on the ashes of a man I completely misunderstood."
Maya sat down across from me, her hand covering mine. "Listen to me, Elena. Even if and that’s a big if his story about Monica is true, it doesn't erase the rest of it. It doesn't erase the speeding. It doesn't erase the way he treated you before the accident. It doesn't erase the fact that he’s part of a family that tried to bury your reputation to save their own."
"I know," I murmured, staring into the amber depths of the tea. "But Victor is on an operating table right now. He’s fighting for his life so he can be the man I 'deserve.' And I’m sitting here wondering if the man I left behind was actually a good person."
"You're overwhelmed," Maya said firmly. "You're pregnant, you're exhausted, and you're terrified for Victor. Your brain is looking for things to feel guilty about because it's easier than facing the fact that Victor might not wake up."
I leaned my head back, closing my eyes. The rain was relentless, a physical manifestation of the chaos in my mind. "I just wanted today to be simple, Maya. I wanted to tell Mrs. Jenkins to stay away and then go back to waiting for Victor’s call. I didn't want Liam’s 'truth' to mess with my head."
"Then don't let it," Maya said. "Victor is your future. That little heartbeat in the scan is your future. Liam is a ghost of a life that was already over before the car even hit the pole. You owe it to Victor and to yourself to stay in the light."
I took a sip of the tea, the warmth spreading through my chest, though it did little to thaw the ice around my heart. "I hope the surgery is over soon. I need to hear his voice. I need to remember why I chose him."
"He'll call," Maya promised. "And when he does, you'll tell him the news, and all this Jenkins drama will feel like a bad dream."
We sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the rain and the low hum of the refrigerator. The house felt small and fragile against the storm outside. I started to reach for my bag, wanting to look at the ultrasound one more time, to ground myself in the reality of the child I was carrying.
Suddenly, a sharp, rhythmic sound cut through the noise of the rain.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
It wasn't a hesitant knock. It was heavy, deliberate, and carried an authority that made the hair on my arms stand up.
Maya and I locked eyes. It was late, and the rain was far too heavy for a casual visitor. My heart began to thud against my ribs, a familiar dread returning.
"Are you expecting anyone?" Maya whispered, her hand moving toward the phone on the counter.
"No," I breathed, standing up slowly.
The knock came again, louder this time. Thud. Thud. Thud.
"Elena?" a muffled voice called out from behind the door, barely audible over the wind.
My breath hitched. I knew that voice. But it wasn't the voice of someone I wanted to see. And it certainly wasn't the voice of someone who should be standing on my porch in the middle of a deluge.
Maya stood up, her face pale. "Stay here, El. I'll see who it is."
"No," I said, my voice gaining a sudden, tremulous strength. I walked toward the mudroom, the dampness of my dress feeling colder than ever. "I'll do it."
I reached for the handle, my fingers trembling. The inventory of the day was over. The meeting at the restaurant had been just the beginning. As I turned the lock, I felt the slight curve of my stomach beneath the floral fabric—a reminder of everything I had to protect.
I pulled the door open.