Page 119 of The Rejected Wife

"You said you knew I’d be a good father. What do you mean by that?" I demand.

She flushes. The color stands out on her face in blotchy patches, making her look worse than before. "I, uh, researched you online.”

I stiffen. Was she planning to blackmail me?

She must notice my expression, for she holds up her hands. “I merely wanted to make sure you were the right person to leave my daughter with. Everything I found out about you confirmed that.”

“Oh?”

She nods. “You are from a well-known family, so you have the pedigree. You’re a former Marine, honorably discharged, so I knew you wouldn’t shy away from your responsibilities. And you are a CEO, so you’re financially well-off.” She shuffles her feet. “Everything confirmed to me that my daughter would be better off with you."

"One thing I don’t understand—" My wife leans forward. "You had—still have—money. You have resources. You could afford the fertility treatments and employing the PI. And the resort we were in isn’t cheap. So, you had the means to take care of her. Why didn’t you?"

Lauren seems taken aback by the question. "You mean, why did I choose to drop her off, in the first place?" she asks in what I recognize as a tactic to buy herself time.

My wife nods. "Why did you do that? Surely, you had the resources to find help?"

Lauren shifts in her seat, then lets out a shaky breath.

"I wanted to be a mother. I wanted it for so long. But when I held Serene…I froze. I didn’t know how to take care of her. I still don’t. I had no one. No family, no friends. No one to help me." She swallows hard. "That’s why I'd never try to take her from you. I can’t. I’m not a threat. I never was."

She laughs. The sound is brittle enough to break.

"All I’m asking is to be able to see Serene and apologize to her for everything. I want to tell her how sorry I am for my actions, which have only hurt her, every step of the way."

Cilla lowers her chin. "I want to tell you that you can?—”

I whip my head in her direction and am about to protest, when she smiles at me and pulls my hand into her lap. "But in this, I have to defer to Serene’s therapist. According to her, Serene’s been through a lot. It’s best to wait until she’s older and mature enough to understand the circumstances surrounding her birth before she meets you.”

Lauren’s features crumple.

My wife blinks away her own tears. "This is not easy for me either. As a mother, I understand what you must be going through. You gave birth to Serene. Nothing changes that. But she's so young. Everything that’s happened is confusing to her. She needs to grow up, become stronger, more resilient.”

Lauren locks her fingers together. The skin stretches tight over her cheekbones.

“I’ll reimburse you for the cost of IVF and the surrogacy,” I growl, the words scraping past my throat like sandpaper. Not because I don’t mean them—but because they are the result of all the stress, the tension, the uncertainty I’ve carried since the moment I first saw my daughter.

Cilla glances at me with that steady, grounding look that’s held me together more times than I can count. We hadn’t discussed this. But I see no hesitation in her eyes—only quiet resolve.

“I think that’s a good idea,” she says softly.

Of course, it is. We’re always in sync, even when the world is fractured around us. It’s that certainty between us that gives me the freedom to speak my truth without fear of rejection. She meets me where I am, every time.

“I also think it’d be a good idea to share pictures of Serene every year with Lauren.” Her voice is gentler now, turning toward me like a warm breeze. “She’ll be able to watch Serene grow…without disrupting her world.”

I hold her gaze. There’s a softness there—a compassion I’m still learning to emulate. She’s better than me. Always has been. She forgives quicker. Feels deeper. And standing beside her…makes me want to rise to that level. For her. For Serene.

A current of silent agreement passes between us, steady and unshakable. I let my shoulders drop, forcing air into my lungs.

Cilla’s so considerate. And she’s right. This way, we keep Lauren updated on Serene, and hopefully, it satisfies her enough, so she’s not compelled to burst in unannounced, again, in Serene’s life.

“I think that’s a good idea,” I echo, quieter this time.

My wife’s lips curve in a soft smile. She squeezes my fingers. It steadies the storm inside me.

“We’ll make sure Serene knows who you are.” She turns to Lauren. “We’ll be honest about how she came to be. That you were the one who carried her. That you brought her safely into the world.”

I tear my eyes from my wife—her strength, her steadiness—and focus on the woman who gave birth to my daughter. “And when the time is right,” I tell her, voice steady, “you’ll meet her. You’ll tell her your version of the story.”

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