4: Shadows Of The Past

Lucas

The Next Day

I sat on the couch in the living room, the divorce papers in my arms, my eyes scanning them all over again.

I didn’t know how to feel or what was going on in my heart. I should be happy, jumping excitedly, right?

But that wasn’t the case. I just couldn’t describe how I felt, different, stuck in between. It’s been ten years with her, and I had termed her worthless.

However, I wouldn’t say I felt a vacuum in my heart. It wasn’t my damn intention to let her go like that. Her being inconsiderate and dramatic had led to that drastic move I never wanted to take.

My arms tightened over the divorce papers, my eyes flickered to them as the strange sting of doubt pulled at my heart.

I never knew what to do.

Was that confusion?

Sonia already had a son for me, a secret that had left in the dark for five whole years.

It was a mistake, a one-night stand I regretted deeply. At least, I did… not until Alora lost our baby and, along with it, her womb.

A silent groan slipped from my chest.

Thinking about that haunting night always brought back pain.

Was she careless?

I wouldn’t think so, not when she blatantly neglected my countless instructions to take her medications seriously during the pregnancy. She lost the baby a few minutes after delivery.

The doctor had reported that the child was weak, and had no vitals to keep him alive.

Alora f**king caused it all. She was careless, so careless that she lost her womb after delivery due to the complications that came as a result of the prolonged labor.

How could I have forgotten so soon?

The same event that had never left my heart all this while, despite everything that had happened.

Now, I was done hiding my son and his mother. What felt like a mistake five years ago was now a blessing to me.

A blessing that came the same day Alora lost our baby.

Or should I be proud?

No, but then, I wasn’t alone after all. I shrugged the feelings away, moving over to the TV stand to drop the divorce papers back.

Then I saw a file.

I had never dropped this file here. How did it get here?

A small string of hesitation pulled within me, but after a while, I picked up the file and opened it.

Inside were numerous papers that contained reports on Alora’s health condition.

The papers suddenly became heavier in my arms; my palms trembled slightly.

A sharp pain ran through me as I flipped through them one at a time, holding on to the weight in my chest.

I had neglected her every complaint all this while, thinking it was her way of giving excuses for causing the death of our child. I thought it was her way of getting at me, to make me care for her again.

I never knew she was dying. I never knew she was suffering. And what did I do? I f**king pushed her more, closer to her grave.

Everything in me shattered, like a piece of glass under pressure. My eyes felt heavy on the papers. I had made a huge mistake.

My legs hit hard against the tiled floor as the sound echoed in my heart, mirroring the depth of my grief.

What if she dies? No!

I let my hands run through my hair at a fast pace, every string in me pulling tight. Then I heard her voice.

“My love, there you are.”

I quickly shoved the papers back into the file and held it by my side, putting up a smile that didn’t reach my heart. I wouldn’t let her see me broken.

“What’s that in your hand?” she asked, looking down.

I winced. “Never mind. I’ll handle it,” I replied, but she didn’t look convinced.

“I want to see it,” she said, reaching for the file.

“I said, leave it!” The words left my lips before I could stop them.

She flinched, stepping backward. Tears dropped from her eyes.

“Dad, did you just raise your voice at Mum?” Dav spouted, moving over toward us, a frown on his face.

I blinked, tugging at my pant pocket. I never knew he was standing right there.

“Not at all, handsome. Come,” I said, spreading my arms.

“Now put a smile on your face. Dad always wants that smile,” I teased, and he giggled.

*****

I sat up and moved over to the window, the weight of it all dawning on me. It’s already been two days, yet I hadn’t heard from Alora nor seen her.

And to worsen it all, I didn’t even know much about her or her background.

I wallowed in misery, I know, but throughout our marriage, we never spent much time speaking about our personal lives.

I pulled out my phone and tried calling her again. Just like the last two days, it didn’t go through.

Somehow, deep down, I feared the worst. Was she okay?

Was she even still alive?

The sound of the door creaking open snapped me out of my thoughts, and I turned, only to meet someone I had never expected at a moment like this.

“My love…” she started, but I cut her off mid-sentence.

“What are you doing here?” I shot back.

She rolled her eyes, confused. “Why do you sound this way? Don’t you want me in your office?” she said, her piercing eyes filled with agony.

I looked away. “I never said that. But you don’t have the right to barge into my office without informing me first,” I said, struggling with my own conflicting thoughts.

Silence crept in for a while, but she broke it. “I see… Seems you don’t want me and your son in your life again,” she said, with tears in her eyes, her words cutting deep.

I turned to meet her teary gaze. “I will leave, and I will do that with my son. And you will never…”

I moved closer to her, my arms cupping her lips. “Never say those words again,” I said, and she lifted her gaze to mine.

I slowly took out my handkerchief and wiped the tears from her eyes. Something in me quickened.

“I know it will take you a short time to adjust, and I am willing to wait. But I want you to always remember all my sacrifices for you and your company, and the fact that I gave birth to your heir,” she said, clutching her hands to my chest.

“Never forget that,” she added, looking into my eyes.

I winced. That was it. I couldn’t explain what I felt anymore.

But then her voice surged again. “Do you still love her?” she asked.

“Who?”

“Alora.”

My heart sank. Everything in me twisted. I didn’t know how, but certainly, that's something different.