Page 48 of The Sculptor

I swallow, remembering the blonde who started showing up to sit with him, helping him study. He never spoke, but then it happened—he smiled at her.

“I knew Vance was right. You would never move on when I constantly reminded you of what you lost.” Shrugging, I offer Duke a sad smile. “So, I decided I would set you free. I moved to France that spring, and I never returned until a few months ago, when my mother fell ill.”

I don’t know when Duke stepped closer, but he’s moved, though he’s yet to speak.

“In her final weeks, I sat by her bed drawing—painting you—sketchingour son. What I thought he would look like if he had lived.”

Duke flinches, and I quickly continue. “And on her final night, my mom started sobbing. Telling me so many things she regretted—secrets that killed her to keep.” I fight the twitch in my lip. “She thought she was doing the right thing by giving us a second chance at a future. She thought we would recover and move on, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because all I felt was lost without you both.”

My gaze drops to the ring on my finger. “She told me my drawing was wrong. That his eyes were brown, his cheeks chubbier than how I drew them.” I wipe away a tear. “We sat that night, and she told me everything she could remember. What he looked like—how he sounded. I drew twenty-three versions of him, writing down the only information she knew: Langston had handled the adoption.”

I can’t stop the tears now. They fall in droves, relentlessly purging the painful secret. “She said she held him, rocking him to sleep until Langston came and took him away.”

I chance a look at Duke to see if he’s even breathing and instead, see wetness on his cheeks. “She said Langston knew a couple who wanted a child badly—so they—” I choke on a sob. “So, our parents forged our names, and Langston covered it up.”

Holding my head up, I face the only man I’ve ever loved. “You want to know why I would volunteer to be Langston’s punching bag? To marry such a shitty human being?”

With everything I have, I grit out the words. “Because he has our son! And I’m done asking for fucking permission. I want my boy, and I will crawl through hell to get him. There’s nothing I won’t do to bring him home.”

Cautiously, I take a few steps forward and take Duke’s hand. “Let me finish this. Give me the annulment, and let me bring our son home. I promise I won’t fail.”

At that, Duke seems to snap out of it and jerks his hand from mine.

He takes a shaky breath and gives me one last lingering look.

And then he leaves.

It’s been half an hour since Duke returned to the hotel room, threw two bottles of water and pain relievers on the bed, and locked himself in the bathroom.

I’m no fool. I know those waters and meds are his way of apologizing.

He didn’t need to say no to my plea for an annulment. I could see it in his eyes. I know the boy behind those eyes. The way he clenches his jaw when he’s determined. And the finality of his voice when he won’t change his mind.

And that look he flashed me before leaving—the one that said,I hear you, but it’s too late—was evidence enough.

He had made his decision.

The thing is, I’m not even surprised by it.

I knew Duke wouldn’t annul the marriage. That’s not his style. Mistake or not, Duke is committed. Where I take issue is him ultimately not including me in his plans.

I searched online this morning, and nothing has been mentioned about our impromptu marriage.

That means we have time to act before Langston hears about it. I don’t know if Langston knows I am looking for my son, but something tells me he’s not that stupid. That’s why I endured everything he dished out. I wanted Langston to think I was broken—to believe I was nothing. With time, he would have dropped his guard, and I would have found some evidence of where he sent my son.

Or, Langston could be that stupid and doesn’t even remember my son or me. Worst-case scenario, he has nothing to point me toward who adopted my baby.

Either way, I have to know.

Duke needs to know.

He deserves to move on truly, not only with a fancy car and medical degree.

I need him to see past his pain right now.

“Duke?” I finally gather the courage and knock on the door. “Can I come in?”

He doesn’t answer, which concerns me more than usual.

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