Cash for Tears

The night I handed Xavier the abortion paperwork, I packed a few clothes and prepared to move into the guest room.

The little boy had already settled into the bedroom next to ours, where the nanny was busy making his bed.

I was carrying my pillow down the hallway when I noticed Xavier leaning against the wall, an unlit cigarette resting between his fingers.

"Bailey," he called out, "why haven't you asked me who his mother is?"

I stopped.

The truth was, I already knew.

Eloise Scott was Xavier's first love.

She left the country three years ago to study abroad. On the day she left, Xavier had stood at the airport for four hours, and that night, he came home so drunk he could barely stay on his feet.

Of course, I mentioned none of that.

I simply gave him a small smile. "What difference would it make if I asked?"

Xavier's expression stiffened.

He had probably been expecting questions, accusations, maybe even screaming and broken dishes. What he clearly had not expected was for me to remain calm.

His hand suddenly closed around my wrist, his grip tightening. "You're not angry?"

I met his gaze. "If I were angry, would you send him away?"

Xavier's jaw tightened, but no answer came.

That was an answer enough.

I gently pulled my wrist from his grasp. "Then, there's nothing for me to ask. Get some rest."

I had only taken a few steps when his voice stopped me again.

"I told the lawyer to rush the paperwork for Astoria Heights. Everything should be ready for you to sign tomorrow."

I kept walking. "Thank you."

…

The following morning, the lawyer, Adam Quinn, arrived with the documents.

As I went through them, I realized the penthouse at Astoria Heights was not the only thing Xavier had transferred to me.

There was also a car and a bank account containing five million.

Adam adjusted his glasses and said, "Mr. Davis added those last night."

I showed no reaction as I picked up the pen and signed every document.

…

By the time I finished, Xavier had come downstairs.

The little boy stood beside him, holding his hand and hiding half his body behind Xavier as he watched me timidly.

Xavier studied me for a moment before speaking, his tone strangely awkward. "You're still recovering. Stay and have lunch with us."

I looked up at him.

In two years of marriage, Xavier had never gone out of his way to ask me to eat with him.

He rarely told me when he was leaving on a business trip. He never called before coming home. Most days, we did not even share a meal.

A bitter feeling tightened in my chest.

I buried it before it could reach my face, allowing only a trace of hesitation to show. "No, thank you, Mr. Davis. I have a follow-up appointment at the hospital this afternoon."

The words "follow-up appointment" made something flicker in his eyes.

He was probably thinking about the abortion.

His lips parted as though he wanted to ask something, but after a brief pause, he only replied, "I'll have the driver take you."

"That won't be necessary." I lowered my gaze. "I can take a cab."

Xavier's expression immediately darkened. He was not used to hearing me refuse him.

Before this, no matter how cold or distant he had been, I was always the one smiling, accommodating him, and closing whatever distance he created between us.

"Bailey." His voice dropped. "I told you the driver would take you."

I did not argue again.

Knowing when to stop pushing was one of the first things a woman in my position learned.

…

On the way to the hospital, a message from Xavier appeared on my phone. 'Tell me what the doctor says.'

I stared at it for a moment.

We had been married for two years, and this was the first time he had ever shown any interest in one of my hospital visits.

Too bad his concern had come from guilt.

I replied with a single word, 'Okay.'

When I arrived at the hospital, I did not go anywhere near the follow-up clinic.

I went straight to obstetrics.

The ultrasound showed that my baby was healthy at four months, and everything was developing normally.

I carefully folded the report and slipped it into the deepest compartment of my bag. Then I took a photo of the hospital lobby and sent it to Xavier. 'Everything's fine.'

His reply came almost immediately.

'Good. Get some rest.'

I switched off my phone and gently rested one hand over the slight curve of my stomach. "Mommy will protect you," I whispered. "Mommy is still taking your father's money, though."