Chapter 4

Chapter 4: A Desperate Hope

ISABELLA 

I woke to gentle sunlight filtering through my bedroom curtains and the distant sound of children's laughter from downstairs.

 For a moment, I allowed myself to pretend everything was normal then reality came crashing back. 

The anniversary dinner. The humiliation. The pills that I had shoved down my throat like it was my salvation. I remembered falling unconscious on the ground. But right now I was on the bed and I had no idea how I got there.

I sat up slowly, my head pounding from dehydration and exhaustion. A soft knock on my door made me freeze as I wondered who it could be. Cassandra had trained her children never to step in here, calling it disgusting and meant for a pig and taught them how to scream my name when they needed her. And Max was never one to check up on me. 

Did they hired a new nanny after last night and I was being replaced. I swallowed hard, afraid to answer the knock and let my reality be shattered once more.

"Isabella?" Max's voice, sounding quite gentle was what came next as my eyes widened in surprise.

I pulled on my robe quickly, tying the belt tight around my waist like armor. "Come in."

He entered carrying a breakfast tray, that contained different foods that were spread on it from fruits to coffee and pancakes.

He was already dressed for work in one of his expensive suits, but something in his demeanor seemed different this time around.

"I brought you breakfast," he said, setting the tray on my small desk. "Thought you might not feel like coming downstairs."

The gesture was so unexpected, that I felt tears build up in my eyes. "Thank you."

He hovered awkwardly by the door, hands in his pockets. "About last night... I know I was late. Work ran longer than expected."

Work. Not Cassandra. Not the fact that he screwed her into next week while missing our anniversary dinner. Just work.

"It's fine," I lied, because what else could I say?

"No, it's not." He moved closer, and I caught a hint of his cologne. It wasn't that good awful one that Cassandra had him wearing recently but it had been the same one he'd worn on our wedding day.

 "I've been thinking about what you said yesterday. About wanting a child."

My heart stopped. After six years of breaking his promises and deflecting any conversation that was leading to it, was he finally ready to discuss the one thing that mattered most to me?

"You have?" I whispered.

He nodded, his eyes looking at me with a soft expression that I thought I would never see again.

"Maybe it's time we tried again. Seriously this time."

Hope seemed to be rising painfully in my chest and with an intensity that it was almost frightening. "Do you mean that?"

"I do." He sat on the edge of my bed close enough but far not to crowd me as he spoke.

 "But I need to know you're committed to making this work. To making us work."

"Of course I am," I said quickly. "I've always been committed to our marriage."

"I know you have." His hand found mine, thumb tracing over my wedding ring. "And I want to show you how much that means to me. There's a company gala next weekend—the annual Henderson Financial event. I want you there. As my wife."

"You want me to come?" I asked, hardly daring to believe it.

"More than that. I want to show you off." His smile he gave me was the one that had made me fall in love with him eight years ago. "Let everyone see how beautiful my wife is. How proud I am of her."

Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them. "Max..."

He reached up to wipe them away, his touch gentle. "I know I haven't been the husband you deserve. But I want to change that. Starting with Saturday night."

"What about Cassandra?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

His expression darkened slightly. "What about her?"

"Will she be there?"

"Cassandra will attend as my business partner, nothing more." His voice carried a warning edge. 

"You're my wife, Isabella. It's time I started acting like it."

That evening, Max came home early which was another surprise. He found me in the kitchen preparing dinner and wrapped his arms around me from behind, so intimate that I felt my knife almost slip from my hands.

"Smells good," he murmured against my ear.

"Just your favorite," I said, leaning back against his chest.

"You're my favorite," he replied, pressing a kiss to my temple.

The tenderness in his voice made my knees weak. When was the last time he'd held me like this? 

"I've arranged for a dress to be delivered tomorrow," he continued. "Something special for Saturday night."

"I could have picked something—"

"I want to do this for you," he interrupted gently. "You've taken such good care of our home, our family. Let me take care of you for once."

The dress arrived Friday afternoon, it was a stunning midnight blue gown that had unique design on it and beads beading that caught the light.

Following it were matching shoes, an elegant small hand held purse, and a jewelry box containing the diamond necklace Max had given me for our first anniversary. I hadn't seen it in years.

"You kept it," I breathed, running my fingers over the familiar stones.

"I kept everything that mattered," Max said from the doorway. 

I held the dress up to myself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman looking back. 

"You'll be the most beautiful woman there," Max said, moving behind me to help put the necklace around my throat.

"I'm nervous," I admitted. "Your colleagues don't know me. What if I say something wrong?"

"You won't," he assured me, his hands settling on my shoulders. "Just be yourself. Be the intelligent, gracious woman I married."

Soon enough the night finally arrived as for the first time, Max led me to the door and we got in his car and he drove off to the place holding my hand during the entire ride.

The Ritz-Carlton's Grand Ballroom had been changed into a fantasy appearance that looked like something pulled from a dream—crystal chandeliers was shining brightly illuminating the well dressed couples, the scents of flowers were up in the air and the noise that came with conversation with colleagues and friends.

"Max!" A well dressed older man approached us immediately, his wife plastered beside him looking every bit the trophy wife. "Wonderful turnout this year."

"Robert, Helen," Max replied warmly. "I'd like you to meet my wife, Isabella."

The words sent a thrill through me. His wife. Spoken with pride, not shame or reluctance.

"Mrs. Henderson," Robert said, taking my hand with old-fashioned gallantry. "You look absolutely radiant."

"Thank you," I managed, still overwhelmed by the reality of being here, being acknowledged.