Page 57 of Stronger Than Love

Sobs wracked my body, my hands grasping Mum’s top as I finally released all the tears that had been trapped deep inside me. For the first time, I allowed myself to fully mourn the loss of a baby that would have meant the world to both Liam and me.

***

The next few days passed in a blur of numbness. Niall had made Martin leave, but Angie stayed with me, unravelling my entire story from so long ago. Her anger at Martin was hotter than a furnace since we’d been family to each other for years. His betrayal had cut deeply and left me evaluating his actions of the past few years.

Liam had vanished without a trace, his phone turned off. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d tried to dial his number, leaving voicemails and texts.

On day three, I finally decided to face the world, leaving the house when Mum and Angie weren’t looking. The route to Liam’s house was engrained in my soul since we’d spent so many nights lying there watching the stars.

Callum met me at the door, a scowl on his face and arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Is he here?” I asked in a low voice.

“No, he left the night he found out about the baby,” Callum snapped.

My legs wobbled and my hand on the wall was the only thing that stopped me from falling.

His eyes narrowed. “When’s the last time you ate?”

I shrugged; everything had become irrelevant to the pain that was pulsing through me.

Callum exhaled a heavy sigh before grabbing my arm and escorting me to the kitchen. I sat watching as he made tea and toast. “Sorry, I’m not the chef of the family,” he muttered, setting the plate in front of me.

He sat on the stool at the island opposite me. “Why didn’t you tell him?” Callum finally asked in a low growl.

“What was the point when I only found out after I lost the baby?” I shrugged.

“Tell me what happened.”

He was the first one who seemed to want he hear the full story instead of snippets.

Instead of eating, I sipped the warm, sweet tea. “I was devastated when Liam left, and yes, I now know that was my fault for listening to the local gossips. Walking back from the science library one night, I just remember the lights. I had my earphones in, but still, the screech of the brakes was the last thing I remember. A drunk driver had lost control of her car and mounted the footpath. When I woke up, both my legs were in casts and the doctor informed me they’d tried but couldn’t save my baby. I didn’t even know I was pregnant.”

Callum sat silently watching me. “Liam wrote to you every day for over a month.”

“He said something about letters the first day I saw him again, but I was too angry to think about it. I never received any letters, Callum. I was in hospital for a while before Mum took me home.”

Callum studied me for several seconds, assessing the truth of my words. “Eat your toast and then I have something to show you.”

Obediently, I munched through one slice, pushing the plate with the other to one side. At least I’d eaten something for him.

“Come on.”

He led me out of the house to an outbuilding. The scent of paint assaulted me as I stepped inside. The walls werecovered in canvases with vibrant paintings. These could only be the work of Liam, the same as the one in his bedroom in the house. He depicted me as a mermaid in some of the paintings, the lighthouse in the distance. Some of the paintings had our faery mound surround in magical lights.

I didn’t think my heart could break any more than it already had, but it fractured inside me again.

“He sent you that birthday package every year, selecting all your favourites so at least you had a connection to home,” Callum said, watching me as I stared at the artwork.

My gaze snapped to him. “If I’m being honest, I think deep down inside I always knew they were from him but wouldn’t admit it. There were times it was the only thing I looked forward to.” Only Liam would have known about every item in those boxes, only he would consider putting together such a package for me.

Callum wandered over to a desk and pulled out the top drawer, handing me a bundle of letters. “I’ll leave you alone,” he said, his hand squeezing my shoulder.

Red pen struck out my university address and read NOT KNOWN AT THIS ADDRESS.

“This isn’t my writing,” I whispered, a lump in my throat. Callum turned to look at me. “This is Martin’s writing; I know it because we used to swap lecture notes back then.”

Callum didn’t reply, merely shook his head and left me.

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