Chapter 2

Chapter 2

LINA

I couldn't sleep. The bed felt enormous without Damien, though I should have been used to it by now. How many nights had I spent alone in these expensive sheets, staring at the ceiling, wondering where he really was? Who he was really with? And what he was doing? It was routine at this point and I was clearly a masochist.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I reached for it, grateful for any distraction from my spiraling thoughts.

It was Lily, my best friend. The preview of her message made my stomach drop.

Lina, I'm so sorry, but I thought you should know...*

My hands shook as I opened the full message. Attached was a photo—Damien  in an elegant ballroom, but this wasn't any charity gala. The banner in the background read "Welcome Home, Adora." His first love. The woman he'd dated before his grandmother had arranged our marriage. The woman I could never compete with.

In the photo, Damien stood at the center of a small crowd, holding a champagne glass, beaming with happiness, and beside him standing in a radiant red dress was Adora herself, who was holding onto his arm, all possessive.

Lily's message continued: I'm at the Grandview Hotel for a work event. This party is happening in the ballroom next door. I'm so sorry, sweetie..

My vision blurred with tears, making the words on the phone unreadable as I closed my eyes and wiped the tears. Of course he'd lied to me. The charity gala had been a convenient excuse, and I'd been too scared to challenge him, to demand he tell me the truth. I was scared of him confirming the fact that I would always be lesser than her in his eyes. That I could never compete with his first love.

I typed back with trembling fingers: Thank you for telling me. I'm okay.

I cried myself to sleep that night, my hand cradling my stomach, whispering apologies to the tiny life growing in me.

"I'm sorry," I murmured into the darkness. "I'm sorry your father doesn't want us. I'm sorry I'm not enough."

Sunlight streaming through the curtains woke me up hours later as my eyes felt swollen and my head was pounding from crying. Damien's side  of the bed remained untouched—he hadn't come home at all.

I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the dried tears. But it couldn't wash away the ache in my chest or the growing certainty that I couldn't continue living like this. Not anymore. Not with a baby to think about.

I was making coffee in the kitchen, switching to decaf, making sure that nothing would harm the baby in me, when I heard the sound of a car arriving on the driveway, but the car sound wasn't Damien's black sedan.     This car belonged to his grandmum. My heart skipped a bit, I wasn't prepared to face her, after a vulnerable night. I also wasn't ready to answer her questions despite how good intentioned her words were.

I quickly checked my reflection in the hallway mirror, trying to smooth down my hair and pinch some color into my pale cheeks.

The doorbell rang, and I opened it to find Damien's grandmother standing there, dressed in her favourite summer dress, and a hat.  Despite everything, I couldn't help but smile at the sight of her. She'd been the closest thing to a mother I'd had since my parents died.

"Lina, darling," she said warmly, pulling me into an embrace. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"Never," I said, stepping back to let her in. "Please, come in. Can I get you some tea?"

"That would be lovely."

I led her to the sitting room, grateful for the excuse to do something  with my hands, and ,ore importantly, it was a reason to avoid her knowing eyes. When I returned with the tea, she was studying the family photos on the mantel, her expression thoughtful.

"You look tired, dear," she observed as I poured her tea. "Is everything alright?"

"Just didn't sleep well," I said, as I added. "You know how it is."

She accepted the cup but didn't drink, her eyes studying my face as she continued. 

"Where's Damien this morning?"

"He had an early meeting," I lied smoothly. I was getting too good at lying.

'

'Hmm." The sound was noncommittal, but I had the uncomfortable feeling she knew more than she was saying.

She sipped her tea in silence for a moment before speaking again. "You know, Lina, I've been thinking a lot about Damien lately. About his childhood."

I settled into the chair across from her, curious to see where this conversation was headed.

"He was such a sweet boy," she continued, a soft smile playing on her lips as she continued speaking. "After his parents divorced, he came to live with me. He was only eight years old, confused and hurt. His father was too busy building his empire, and his mother..." she trailed off, her smile fading. "Well, she had her own life to live, I suppose."

"I tried to give him stability, love. But I think those early years left neglected by his parents left some scars that never went away. He learned to protect himself, to keep people at arm's length and to protect his heart first." 

She looked at me directly then, her gaze piercing. "It's not an excuse for how he treats you, Lina. But perhaps an explanation."

My throat tightened. Did she know? Could she see how unhappy I was?

"He's lucky to have you," she continued. "Your parents raised a remarkable young woman. Kind, patient, loyal. Everything Derek needs, whether he realizes it or not."

The mention of my parents nearly broke me. I felt tears threatening  to spill again and I  blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back.

"Speaking of which," she said, her tone shifting to something lighter, "I was wondering about grandchildren. You've been married two years now. An old woman has the right to hope, doesn't she?"

The question hit me like a punch to the gut. My hand moved involuntarily to my stomach, and I saw her eyes follow the gesture. I quickly clasped my hands in my lap.

"We're... we're not planning for children at the moment," I said carefully, each word painful. "Damien is very focused on his work, and I... I want to make sure the timing is right."

His grandmother's expression changed to something that  looked like disappointment, though she tried to hide it from me as she nodded her head.

 

"Of course, dear. These things shouldn't be rushed. Though I confess, I'd love to see a little one running around this big house before I'm too old to enjoy it."

The guilt was overwhelming. Here was this woman who'd saved me, who'd given me a home when I had nothing, who'd arranged my marriage to her grandson out of love and a desire to honor my parents' sacrifice. And I was lying to her, keeping her great-grandchild a secret because her grandson didn't want it.

She stayed for another half hour, chatting about her garden club and asking about my charity work. When she finally prepared to leave, she took both my hands in hers at the door.

"Lina," she said seriously, her grip firm despite her age. "I made a promise to your parents. The night of the accident, in the hospital, your mother made me swear that I would take care of you no matter what and I told her I will. That you would always have a family, always have a home here with me. If you're ever troubled, if you ever need anything—anything at all—you must tell me. Promise me that."

I nodded, not trusting my voice to not break down if I attempted to speak. She pulled me into another embrace, and I let myself be held, wishing that I could tell her everything. About the pregnancy, about his indifference, about amily. 

But I couldn't. I wouldn't burden her with this.

"I promise," I whispered against her shoulder.

After she left, I stood in the empty foyer, my hand pressed against my stomach. The only people I wished I could tell about this baby, were the ones I could never reach again.

My parents.

I grabbed my car keys. I needed to visit them, to talk to them, even if they couldn't answer. I needed to feel close to them, to remember who I was before I became Damien's unwanted wife.

I needed to go to their graves.