Chapter 4

Abigail

My stomach dropped. “What?” 

“Susanna fainted,” he said, his voice rising. “The doctors think it could be something she ate. She said it started after breakfast.” 

“You think I did something to her?” I snapped, my frustration boiling over. 

“I’m not accusing you,” he said, though his tone didn’t fully match his words. “I just need to know if there was anything unusual in the food. Susanna’s health—”

“Was fine when I left the house,” I interrupted sharply. “I made her an omelette. Eggs, cheese, a pinch of salt. Nothing unusual. The same thing I’ve made a hundred times before.” 

He sighed on the other end of the line, and I could almost picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Abigail. I just—” 

“Just what?” I interrupted. “I’m here at the hospital, dealing with my own recovery, and now I have to defend myself because Susanna fainted? You think I’d harm her?” 

There was a long pause, and for a moment, I thought he’d hung up. Finally, he said, “No, I don’t think that. I just… I’m trying to understand what happened.” 

I let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe you should start by asking her. I’m sure she’ll have an answer that suits her.” 

The phone felt heavy in my hand as I listened to Susanna’s shaky voice come through the line.  “Oh, Abigail, please don’t feel bad,” she said. The words made me grit my teeth. “This isn’t your fault. I should have been more mindful of what I ate. Pregnant women need to be careful, after all.” 

I could hear Conrad murmuring something on the other end, his voice low and soothing. 

“Susanna, you need to rest,” he said gently, and there was a pause before he added, “Abigail, I think you owe her an apology.” 

My grip on the phone tightened. My breath hitched, but I managed to keep my voice steady. “Apologize? For what? For making toast?” 

“Abigail,” Conrad said, his tone a warning. 

I bit the inside of my cheek, my anger barely contained. “If she feels faint after eating the same food we all had, maybe the problem isn’t with the food.” 

“Abigail!” Conrad’s voice rose slightly, but I had already pulled the phone away from my ear. With a sharp press of my thumb, I ended the call and shoved the phone into my pocket. 

The house was silent when I returned, something I was beyond grateful for. I needed to clear my head. As I headed up the stairs, I could hear the faint ringing of a phone, echoing through the house. The sound seemed to come from Conrad’s private study. My stomach twisted with curiosity. What if it was important news about Alexander? He rarely allowed anyone in that room, especially when he wasn’t around, but I didn’t want to miss a potential update. I needed to answer it.

I hesitated only for a moment before moving toward the door. With a glance over my shoulder, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. It felt like crossing an invisible boundary, but the phone continued to ring, reminding of what I had come in here for. The room was dim, filled with rich mahogany furniture and shelves lined with books. I could feel the weight of Conrad’s disapproval in my chest, but I pushed it aside.

I could see the phone perched on his desk, still ringing. I picked it up, my pulse quickening as I introduced myself. “Hello, this is Abigail, Conrad Remington’s wife.”

“Ah, Mrs. Remington,” a male voice replied, sounding relieved. “This is Marshall, from the search team. We’ve been trying to reach Mr. Remington. We have an update regarding the situation with your brother-in-law, Alexander Remington.”

I straightened, every bit of my attention now focused. “What is it?” I asked, my heart pounding.

“We’ve found some potential leads and need to discuss them with him. We’re gathering more resources for the next phase of the search; it’s important that we follow up as soon as possible, with Mr. Remington’s approval, of course.”

“Yes, absolutely. I approve whatever is needed. I’ll let Conrad know. Please continue,” I said, my mind steady.

“Thank you, Mrs. Remington. We will keep you informed.”

As the voice on the other end provided details, I scribbled notes, my heart racing with the weight of the news. After we finished, I hung up, my breath shaky but my heart a little lighter. There was hope, even if it was only a little.

I stepped away from the desk, glancing around the room when something caught my eye—a beautiful oil painting hanging on the wall. I stepped closer, the dim light revealing the details. It was a stunning piece, almost ethereal, and I realized it resembled my silhouette, the lines delicate and graceful. It was me. The contours of the face, the hair swept back in a soft cascade, captured in a moment of serenity. I couldn’t hold back my gasp.  

Beside the painting was a bouquet of vibrant red roses, their rich color popping against the muted walls. Attached to the stems was a card. I picked it up opened it, my breath catching as I read the words inside:

“For someone special, whose strength shines brighter than any star. I hope this brings you joy on your special day.”

Happiness spread through me, and I felt a flutter of hope—was this a surprise for me from Conrad? Had he been planning this all along, to make up for the way he’d let Susanna come into our home, and all the stress she’d caused me?

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and for a moment, I let myself believe that he had meant this for me, that he had been thinking of me all along, even when it seemed like his focus was elsewhere. I smiled at the thought, my heart lifting as I imagined sharing this news of my pregnancy with him alongside his surprise.

I decided to pretend I didn’t know about the roses, to wait for him to tell me himself, and to plan for the right moment to share my own news. It felt like a delicate dance, one that could tip the scales in our relationship. 

I stepped away from the painting, still smiling goofily.  Just as I turned to leave the study, the door opened, and Conrad stood there, his expression shifting from surprise to concern as he took in the sight of me. 

“Abigail? What are you doing here?”