Chapter 24
599words
"Yes. And when she started remembering details in therapy with you, you became a threat too."
Olivia closed her eyes, processing this. "The car accident, the hemorrhage—they were warnings. Or attempts to silence me permanently."
"I believe so," I said gently. "And I think my father has been watching us for years, ready to intervene if we ever got too close to the truth. When you miscarried and we started to drift apart, it served his purposes. But when there were signs we might reconcile..."
"He paid Rebecca to lie about being pregnant," Olivia finished. "To ensure we would never find our way back to each other."
The cruelty of it hung in the air between us. My own father had orchestrated the destruction of our marriage, had caused Olivia unimaginable pain, all to protect his secrets.
"I'm so sorry," I said, the words wholly inadequate. "For everything he's done to you."
"It's not your fault, Nathan."
"He's my father. His blood runs in my veins."
Olivia reached across the table, taking my hand. "You are not your father. You never have been."
Her touch, the first she had initiated since our separation, sent warmth spreading through me. I turned my hand to clasp hers, our fingers intertwining naturally, as they had countless times before.
"What happens now?" she asked softly.
"Now we gather evidence. Build a case against him. Make sure he can never hurt anyone again."
She nodded, but I could see exhaustion overtaking her again. The conversation, the emotional weight of these revelations, had drained what little energy she had regained.
"But first," I said, standing and gently helping her to her feet, "you need to rest. We can talk more tomorrow."
I walked her back to the bedroom, supporting her when she swayed slightly. At the doorway, she paused, looking up at me with those expressive eyes that had always been able to see straight through me.
"Stay with me," she said quietly. "Please."
The request, so simple yet so profound, caught me off guard. "Are you sure?"
She nodded. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
I helped her into bed, then lay down beside her, careful to maintain a respectful distance. But Olivia moved closer, resting her head against my chest, her hand over my heart. I wrapped my arm around her gently, mindful of her surgical incision, and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For being here now."
"I'll always be here," I promised. "For as long as you want me."
---
I woke to an empty bed. For a moment, panic seized me before I heard soft movements in the kitchen. I found Olivia standing by the windows, a mug of tea cradled in her hands, watching the sunrise over the lake.
"You should be resting," I said gently, not wanting to startle her.
She turned, a small smile touching her lips. "I've been thinking about the future."
"What about it?"
"I always thought I'd be a mother someday," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Even after the miscarriage, I held onto that hope. That someday, when I was ready, I could try again."
My heart ached for her. "Olivia..."
"Now that's gone," she continued, a tear sliding down her cheek. "That future, that possibility—it's been taken from me."
"I can't imagine how painful that loss must be," I said softly.
She turned to look at me. "Would you have wanted more children? If things had been different between us?"
