Chapter 3
Grace's POV
Three years ago after that avalanche, he lay in the hospital bed, holding my hand. "I owe her my life. I'll give her some money to thank her."
I even smiled back then. "That's good of you."
Looking back now, that smile makes me sick.
The money became a corporate position. Gratitude became an empire. All those nights he said he was "too busy with work," he was building her future. Every store was built with time stolen from our marriage.
My stomach churns. Nausea slams into me.
"What's wrong?" He steadies me. "Are you okay?"
I hear Sarah's heels clicking closer, her voice gentle. "Mrs. Thornton, you look so pale. Did I say something wrong? I was only telling the truth."
Each word stings.
His face darkens. "Stay away from my wife."
Then he picks me up and rushes out of the hall.
The doctor says it's nothing serious. Just emotional stress. I need to rest.
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling. He holds my hand. "I'll get you something to eat. What do you want?"
"Don't bother."
He leaves anyway.
My phone buzzes. That same number again. "See that? He really loves you."
"Too bad about the whole no baby situation. One phone call and he'll come running to me. Want to bet?"
I stare at the screen, knuckles white.
I don't need to bet.
Because minutes later, the door opens. He's holding food, but the tenderness is gone. Anxiety and guilt replace it.
"Babe, I'm sorry. Something urgent just came up. I've got to go deal with it."
I grab his sleeve, voice soft. "Please stay. I don't want to be alone."
He freezes. Something flickers in his eyes.
Finally he kisses my forehead. "I'll be back soon. The second I'm done."
He turns and walks out fast.
I close my eyes. Tears slip down.
Two more days. Just two more days and I'm gone forever.
Half an hour after he leaves, another video arrives.
The footage shows his family estate. The living room. That fireplace, that crystal chandelier.
He sits on the couch holding that three-year-old boy, hand on the child's forehead, checking if the fever broke. The smile on his face is heartbreaking in its tenderness.
Sarah sits beside him. "I heard you've been planning all these things for her. The Napa winery, the yacht in Europe, the anniversary surprise?"
Her eyes redden. "I want one too. Not for me. For our son. He should know his father loves him."
He frowns. "I've already given you plenty. Child support, your position, the whole brand. Don't be greedy."
She cries, voice breaking. "I'm not being greedy. I just want proof he's not some secret I have to hide. Just one thing. The winery, or the yacht, or whatever you got her for your anniversary. For his third birthday. So he'll know his dad didn't forget."
On screen, he's silent for a long time.
Then nods. "Fine."
The camera shifts. Sarah's face fills the screen. She looks right at the camera, a mocking smile on her lips.
The video ends.
I stare at the black screen, hands shaking.
Then his message arrives. "Babe, the Napa thing hit a snag. We might need to look at other options. But don't worry, I'll find something even better."
I remember the promise he made this morning. Turns out that future can be handed off to someone else just like that.
I text Emma: "Move it up."
I take a deep breath and text Alexander: "Where are you?"
He replies fast. "What's wrong? I'll be back soon."
Three seconds later, like he's afraid I'll overthink it, he adds: "Okay, sorry babe. I'm at the family estate. You know how my mother is with you. I'm dealing with some family stuff. I'll send my assistant over to stay with you. I'll be back as soon as I can."
I stare at the words on screen. Don't reply.
I pull two things from my bag and set them on the nightstand. A sealed pregnancy report. A USB drive with all the videos and photos she sent.
I write on a note. "For my husband. Please give this to him after I'm gone."
Then I put on my coat, walk out of the room, and get into Emma's car waiting outside.
Emma asks, "Right now?"
"Take me somewhere first."
The estate door stands ajar.
Warm golden light spills out, mixed with laughter.
I stand outside, looking through the gap.
A servant passes with a tray. "Mrs. Thornton, your tea."
That title should be mine.
The little boy plays with toys on the carpet. Family members gather around him, smiling.
His mother speaks, voice carrying outside. "Was that woman bothering you again?" Irritation fills her voice. "Just ignore her. All she does is cling to you. Can't even give you a child. Without Sarah, this family wouldn't have an heir."
She turns to Sarah, voice softening. "You take care of yourself and the child. Don't let yourself suffer."
He puts down his phone, frowning. "Don't talk like that. I only have one wife."
His mother snorts. "What good is a wife on paper?"
He doesn't argue back, just says quietly, "I've been good to Sarah. The brand, the director position, covering all the kid's expenses. I haven't shortchanged her."
Sarah sits beside him, smiling gently. "I know you've been good to me. I've never asked for more."
His father pats his shoulder. "You're doing the right thing. This boy is Thornton blood. That's what matters most."
My vision blurs.
So everyone knew. Just me, like an idiot, thinking that piece of paper still mattered.
He sits on the couch, arm around her shoulder, smiling gently.
I whisper, "Goodbye. Never again."
I turn around and get back in the car.
"The coastal highway?"
"Yeah."
The car drives into the night.
Alexander's talking business with his father when the little boy climbs into his lap.
He smiles and picks the child up.
Suddenly, panic hits.
His smile freezes.
"What's wrong?" Sarah asks.
He shakes his head. "Nothing."
But the feeling gets stronger. He looks at the family around him, the child, the smiles. Suddenly he sees her lying alone in that hospital room.
Guilt crashes over him.
He sets the child down and reaches for his phone to call his assistant about Grace, but it rings first.
"Mr. Thornton!" The assistant's voice trembles. "Mrs. Thornton left the hospital! The car she was in crashed! Coastal highway. Went through the guardrail, into the ocean!"
For a moment, Alexander feels his heart stop beating.
