Page 33 of Weather the Storm

“As y-you know, I r-r-ran. Never had the m-money to file for divorce, though I doubt I w-would’ve been b-brave enough even if I had. He’s…Grant’s r-rich and powerful. He has c-connections and…”

“And what? It’s okay, you can tell me anything.”

“I was scared he w-would hunt me d-down and drag me h-home.”

Fire ignites in my chest at the thought. “Never gonna let that happen.”

“Promise?”

“Swear it, Goldilocks.”

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MAGNOLIA

When Simon said we needed to talk, I was momentarily petrified. A million thoughts raced through my mind all at once. The most prevalent:Did he decide I’m too much work? That I’m not worth the hassle?

Truly, I should’ve known better. That’s not the kind of man Simon McAllister is, not to mention, he’s so very right—there’re a lot of things we need to talk about, even though some of them will hurt.

“This next question, Magnolia—please know your answer won’t change anything about the way I feel for you.”

I twine my fingers together in my lap and worry my lip between my teeth; I know what he’s about to ask me.

“You said you can’t have children?”

“Um…wow, this is r-r-really hard to talk about.”

“Take your time, pretty girl. I’m yours, either way.”

I release my own hands and take hold of his, hoping to glean some of his strength. “L-like I t-told you, Grant used to b-beat on me.” Simon tips his chin down to his chest, his blue stare boring into mine. “He…he wanted a son something f-fierce. The m-minute we said ‘I do,’ he was t-talking about babies, w-wanted to start trying right away.

“It t-took a while for me to conceive, and then about ten weeks in, I mis-miscarried. Grant was so, so, so mad. So, we tried a-again. Another miscarriage. And again.” I pause to brush away the moisture clinging to my cheeks, but it’s no use; fresh tears just keep falling. “Grant was furious. He took me to a specialist, who told him there was n-no real r-reason for me to not be able to carry a baby, said it was probably stress-induced, which just served to enrage him even more. A-according to him, I didn’t have anything to be stressed about, you know, because getting the snot beat out of me daily certainly wasn’t upsetting.”

I let out a deprecating laugh; my God, I hate that monster. He not only robbed me of years of my life, but also of my ability to create life.

“After that, he p-put me on a schedule and a diet. He tr-tracked my fertility, my b-basal temperature, all of that. He researched the best times and days and p-positions, and f-finally, six months later, we got a p-positive test.”

Simon kisses the corner of my eye. “I feel like the worst is yet to come, and my heart fucking hurts for you.”

I offer him a strained smile in return. “The pregnancy stuck this time, made it into the second trimester. Grant was so happy, and for a while, things were good. He even took me to a dinner party one night. One of his b-business associates struck up a con-conversation with me, and Grant saw red. He practically dragged me home.

“He was sh-shouting c-crazy stuff, accusing me of cheating—said the bastard in my belly wasn’t his.” My tears are a steady stream now, my voice shaky. I glance to Simon, and he’s crying almost as hard as I am, distraught over the things I’m telling him. “He th-threw me down the st-stairs. I prayed he’d leave me alone, but he stomped down after me like he was possessed by the devil himself, reared back and kicked me again and again, t-told me he wasn’t gonna raise the abomination in my belly.”

Simon pulls me up, cocoons me in his arms, and kisses my face all over, tasting my tears.

“It was his, Simon, I s-swear. Until you, I’d only ever been with him.”

“I know, Magnolia, I know.”

“I lost my baby, Simon. I saw him on the ultrasound screen just the week before and heard his heartbeat. It was a b-boy. He k-killed my baby.” My soft cries have turned to full-blown wails as I mourn the loss of my son. “When he beat me that time, he damaged my o-ovaries, and now…” My words fall away, allowing him to fill in the rest.

Simon swallows roughly, his posture as rigid as a steel post. “Two things,” he grinds out through clenched teeth. “One, if I ever meet that sack of shit, I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna put him down like the dog he is. Two, I love you regardless.”

We both freeze.

“You…you love me?” I choke on the question, petrified to hear his answer.

“Yeah, Goldilocks, I do.”

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