Alex clung to her leg. “If you call me Alex again, I’ll be mad! Call me Xander! You’re way nicer than my mom. I like you best!” He glanced
towards the stairs, making sure I was out of earshot. “Why don’t you just live here? I want
to see you when I wake up. Dad said it’s okay.
<
Our house is huge! You can have anything you want.”
Mark had suggested Sarah move in. There was
plenty of room, and it would save her the long commute. Plus, she was practically broke. But Sarah insisted on renting a small apartment, politely declining his offer.
“Xander, you need to practice your piano now,” Sarah said, trying to redirect him.
Alex shook his head, determined. “Are you
scared of my mom? Don’t worry, Dad and I will
protect you. She does whatever Dad says. She won’t do anything to you.”
He knew exactly how to hurt me. He was my son, after all. He knew my weaknesses.
I put on my pearl earrings and strolled into the living room.
“Mrs. Peterson, I…” Sarah began, looking flustered.
“It’s fine, Sarah. Please, stay. I know that
three–hour bus ride each way is exhausting.” |
slipped on my shoes, offered by the
housekeeper. “Don’t feel awkward. I’m glad
く
you’re back.”
Alex stared at me, surprised. When Dad got
drunk and mumbled Sarah’s name, Mom would
cry. This wasn’t the first time Alex had seen
Sarah. He’d found a picture of her tucked away
in his dad’s drawer and heard him whisper her
name in his sleep. He thought he’d found the
perfect weapon to punish me. But it wasn’t
working.
“I want ice cream! Ten scoops!” he demanded.
The only response was the sound of the front
door closing behind me. I hadn’t had a chance
to pamper myself during my hospital stay. It
was time for a spa day. My driver was already
waiting.
Inside, Alex’s forced cheerfulness evaporated. “Bring me the ice cream,” he mumbled to the
housekeeper.
When she returned with a bowl, he shoved it to
the floor. He stared at the closed door, a
worried frown creasing his brow. Had his mom
really forgotten him?
Mark’s mother, Eleanor, arrived with bags
<
2:52
83
overflowing with designer goods after hearing
about Sarah’s return and her new job as Alex’s
piano teacher.
“Sarah, dear, you’ve been through so much,”
Eleanor said, clutching Sarah’s hands. “If only
you had married Mark in the first place. With his
help, your family business wouldn’t have gone
under.”
Sarah looked uncomfortable. “Eleanor, please.
What’s done is done. I’m grateful to Mark for
giving me this opportunity.”
Eleanor lowered her voice. “Mark’s filing for
divorce, you know. The timing… well, it speaks
for itself, doesn’t it? Don’t you worry. Even Alex
adores you. You’ll be happy here. And Mark will
help your family get back on their feet.”
Eleanor hadn’t bothered to inform me of her
visit, even though she knew I was home. I
stayed out of sight, not wanting to interrupt
their reunion. It wasn’t just Mark and Alex who
adored Sarah. Eleanor did too. She’d wanted
Sarah as a daughter–in–law from the start.
Sarah came from a good family, a perfect
<
match for the Petersons. And Mark was head
over heels for her. Eleanor had been delighted,
eager to arrange a marriage.
But Sarah hadn’t felt the same way about Mark.
She’d politely declined his proposal and gone to
Europe to pursue her music career. Eleanor was
disappointed, but she respected Sarah’s
ambition.
As for me, I was just a girl from a modest
background, a social climber desperate to
marry into money. I could sense Eleanor’s
disdain, masked by a veneer of politeness.
Sometimes I wondered if everyone would have
been happier if Sarah had married Mark.
My phone buzzed. A text message informed me
that the insurance settlement from the accident
had been deposited. I thought the trauma would
make me forget the details of that day, but it
was all still so vivid.
The torrential rain. Mark and I on the highway.
The phone call. I’d heard the panicked voice on
the other end. “Mr. Peterson, there’s a group of
debt collectors harassing Ms. Miller at her
NAWAB, Ch Qasim Ali, Arsh… Mohammed Kalim sent a sticker
Mark had glanced at me, not for permission,
but to inform me he was going to Sarah. We were heading in the opposite direction.
now
“Just drop me off at the next rest stop,” I’d said
quietly. “I’ll take a cab home.”
The moment I stepped out of the car, the rain.
soaked me, despite my umbrella. Mark’s black
Bentley sped past, splashing muddy water on
- me. The rusted remains of our relationship
mirrored the dreary weather.
The cab I’d hailed was old and poorly
maintained. On the slick highway, the driver lost
control. In the heart–stopping moment before
impact, I fumbled for the seatbelt, my mind.
racing.
Bang. My head slammed against the window.
Time seemed to slow as my life flashed before
my eyes, a montage of memories centered
around Mark.
Ten years old, my parents stretching their
finances to buy a house in the wealthiest part
of town, just so I could befriend Mark. They told
1- –
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11 –
<
me to be nice to him, that he was the “golden
boy.” He was handsome, and I was happy to tag
along. Seven years of following in his shadow.
Seventeen, the realization that I was in love with
him, and his utter indifference. The whispers of
“groupie” and “gold digger” from his friends.
Eighteen, watching him chase after Sarah, then
wallow in misery after she rejected him.
Twenty–one, Mark, drunk, mistaking me for
Sarah, whispering her name. I should have
pushed him away, slapped him. But I didn’t. My
father’s business was failing, desperate for a
cash infusion. And marrying Mark… it had been
my parents‘ dream, almost as much as it had
once been mine.
