Someone's Torturing Me

My hand trembled as I clutched a pregnancy test.

Inside the room, Grayson Brooke's and his friend's voices carried, clear and damning.

Grayson let out a heavy sigh, his tone laced with bitterness. "Even if Kayla never loves me back, I'd still give her everything I have. Everything."

His friend Shawn Carson, sounded appalled. "And what about Lydia? That accident you orchestrated nearly destroyed her chance to ever have children. For years, she's endured those brutal procedures—the injections, the retrievals, the transfers—praying for a miracle just to give you a baby. And you're just going to let her keep suffering?

"She's your childhood friend, for God's sake. You set her up. Aren't you afraid she'll find out?"

I heard the faint click of a lighter, the slow draw of a breath. "She'll never know," Grayson said. "And I will take care of her for the rest of her life. As long as she doesn't get in the way of Kayla's happiness, she'll want for nothing."

The recording icon on my phone glowed red. I tapped it, ending the truth, and staggered back into the living room. My legs gave way, and I crumpled onto the rug beside the sofa, all the strength gone from my body.

I curled into myself, a low moan escaping as a familiar, stabbing pain lanced through my lower abdomen—a permanent souvenir from the accident, the stillbirth, and the countless medical invasions that followed. Now, my heart was being shredded just as thoroughly.

When I'd lost my first baby, my ex-husband had paraded Kayla in front of my hospital bed, their cruel happiness stabbing at me so seriously that I nearly hemorrhaged.

It was then that Grayson appeared. He dragged my ex-husband out of the ward, fists landing solid and merciless.

I had wept with gratitude, so broken I would have kissed his feet. He'd just held me, his voice thick with what I'd mistaken for remorse. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner. I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

He'd proposed the day I was discharged, saying he couldn't risk losing me a second time. We went to the city hall that very afternoon to get married.

All of it—every tender word, every promise whispered in the dark—had been a performance. My unborn child and I were just medical assets, collateral damage in his desperate quest to save the woman he truly loved.

The pain in my chest was so acute, so visceral, I saw spots dancing at the edge of my vision.

"Lydia? My God, what's wrong?"

Grayson was suddenly there, kneeling, gathering me into his arms. His palm was warm and gentle against my back, a perfect imitation of concern. "Is it the pain again? Baby, you have to listen to me. Your body can't take another pregnancy. We have to stop trying. Please."

His voice cracked with such convincing anguish that it had always disarmed me. I'd carried the weight of my own inadequacy, ashamed I couldn't give this seemingly devoted man a child.

Now, the sheer, pathetic depth of my self-deception made me want to vomit.

I bit down hard, dug my nails into my palm, and forced my tone into calm indifference.

"What if I already am pregnant?"

His body went rigid against mine. The pause was infinitesimal, but I felt it—a split-second of pure panic masked almost instantly. He smoothed my hair back, forcing a bitter smile.

"Lydia, there is nothing in this world I want more than a family with you. But carrying a child could kill you. I can't lose you. It can be just us. Just you and me, forever. That's all I'll ever need."