Chapter 19

I’d sniffled and nodded gently at Brian Locke in the hospital bed, “Okay.”

From that day on, I’d gone to his room every day to chat with him for an hour. He’d always loved talking about the meals we’d shared, the places we’d been, and the books we’d read—like he was trying to make up for all the silent years of our marriage in that one hour. I’d known he was trying to bring back those relatively happy shared memories, but the bad times were like a stained rag—one gentle pull and they’d be exposed. Maybe it was the moment he’d spoken harshly to me because of Lily Bennett, or the image of him smashing my mother’s jade bracelet, or the screen of my phone showing all those “read but unanswered” messages.

We’d both carefully maintained our boundaries. He’d quickly steered the conversation away from tricky topics, and I’d tried to play along—like walking a path covered in broken glass, afraid that one wrong step would shatter the pretense between us.

Brian had recovered faster than my father. On the day he was discharged, I’d given him a carefully prepared gift—a limited-edition vinyl record he’d mentioned once but never gotten around to buying. When he’d taken it, his eyes had lit up for a moment, but in the end, he’d only said, “Thank you.”

On the day my father was discharged, I’d held a small celebration dinner, inviting only our closest relatives and friends. I hadn’t invited Brian Locke, but he’d shown up anyway, carrying a beautifully wrapped gift—an antique tea set my father had been talking about for ages. I’d greeted him politely, pouring him wine and offering him fruit, my tone as distant as if I were treating an ordinary friend. He’d probably felt it too—he’d been quiet the whole time, glancing at Justin Cole, who was helping me greet the guests, with a complicated look in his eyes.

I’d known he still hadn’t let go, but I’d already categorized him as an “outsider.”

A few days later, in the afternoon, I’d been having afternoon tea with a best friend at a teahouse. We hadn’t talked for long when I’d started feeling dizzy—probably from drinking red wine too quickly. In my haze, I’d seen Lily Bennett and Joanne Morgan burst in, yelling and swearing, like they’d come to settle a score with me. Luckily, I’d brought my personal bodyguards. Before the two women could get close, the guards had stopped them and called the police.

At the police station, I’d leaned back in my chair to rest, my mind foggy. My best friend had been making nonstop phone calls, not sure who she was contacting. After a while, I’d heard her voice grow excited. When I’d opened my eyes, I’d seen Brian Locke standing not far away, wearing a sharp suit, his face looking a bit anxious.

He’d walked over and reached out to help me, “Let me take you home.”

I’d closed my eyes again, massaging my throbbing temples, my voice slurred from the alcohol, “No… I called Justin Cole. He’ll come.”

As soon as I’d finished speaking, I’d felt myself lifted off the ground—Brian Locke had actually picked me up in his arms. “Brian Locke, what are you doing!” My best friend had rushed over to stop him, “Shea is waiting for Justin Cole! Put her down!”

“That man isn’t good enough for her,” Brian’s voice had been cold, with an uncompromising firmness.

My best friend had been infuriated. She’d pointed at him and shouted, “What about you? Are you good enough for her? Where were you when Shea had that miscarriage after the car accident? Don’t think that just because you’re putting on a big show today, you’re her hero, her savior!”

I hadn’t heard the rest clearly, but the words “miscarriage after the car accident” had hit me like a thunderbolt, sobering me up instantly. I’d looked at Brian Locke instinctively. He’d frozen in place, his face as white as a sheet, his grip on me loosening slightly, his voice trembling as he asked, “Mia… miscarriage? When?”

My best friend had ignored him, turning to wave toward the door, “Over here!”

Following her gaze, I’d seen Justin Cole striding in, his face full of worry. He’d walked up to Brian Locke, his tone calm but with an unrefusable authority, “Mr. Locke, thank you for looking after Shea. I’ll take it from here.”

Brian hadn’t said a word. He’d slowly put me down. Justin had immediately pulled me into his arms. Leaning on his shoulder, I’d smelled the familiar cedar scent on him, and my heart had settled instantly. He’d kissed my forehead gently and whispered, “Let’s go home.”

I’d nodded, letting him carry me out without glancing at Brian Locke even once.

In the car, the effects of the alcohol had hit me again. Leaning in Justin’s arms, I’d cried unconsciously.

I’d lost the baby during our third year of marriage. That day, I’d gone to the company to deliver documents to Brian Locke. On the way, a truck had run a red light and hit me. When I’d woken up, the doctor had told me the baby was gone. I’d called Brian countless times from the hospital, but he’d never answered. Later, I’d found out that Lily Bennett had said she was “in a bad mood,” and he’d spent the whole night drinking with her at a bar.

I’d never told him about it—first, because I’d thought it was pointless, and second, because I’d didn’t want to reopen the wound. But I’d never expected my best friend to bring it up at that moment.

I’d had no idea what Brian Locke had felt when he’d learned the truth—maybe guilt, maybe regret—but none of that had mattered to me anymore. That unborn child was a permanent pain in my heart, an uncrossable chasm between Brian and me.

When the car had stopped downstairs, Justin had carried me out and comforted me softly, “Don’t think too much. It’s all in the past.”

I’d nodded, leaning against him, knowing full well—some hurts, once done, could never be undone. Some misses, once happened, could never be fixed. Brian and I had long been separated by that child we’d never met, by all those years of misunderstandings and hurts.

And all I’d wanted to do was hold onto the warmth in front of me and live well.