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She gave me a disappointed look. “You said you’d go and do the counseling they have there.”
“I rehashed everything for the lawyers.” I dropped my gaze. “I don’t feel like doing it again in front of a bunch of strangers.”
“They won’t be strangers,” she said softly. “They’ll be other women who have experienced similar trauma.”
“No one has gone through similar trauma,” I snapped, glaring at her. “For months, I allowed him to do those things to me.” My cheeks burned. “No one’s as big a fool as me.”
“You’re not foolish. You believed my son would have a care with you as any man should with a woman who gives him consent.”
She pulled in a deep breath, then let it out, a sad sound.
“Martin is ... well, I’m not sure when or where exactly it went so wrong with him. Maybe he misconstrued the dynamics of my relationship with his father. Maybe it was something I’m not privy to. But whatever the cause, it’s on him what he has done. He’s to blame. He must fix himself.”
I blinked at her in complete surprise.
“You’re an intelligent, beautiful, strong woman, Addy,” she said softly, “and part of being intelligent and strong is to go to the shelter and learn how to pick up the pieces. Only then can you truly go on with your life.”
I considered her words, realizing she might be right.
“Why would you care?” I asked suspiciously.
“Because you’re carrying my grandchild.” Her gaze dipped to my stomach where I’d unknowingly placed my hand.
“She’ll be yours. Not mine.”
A vise of sorrow squeezed all the blood that remained from my heart at the thought of Martin’s parents having custody of my daughter and raising her. But it was for the best. For her safety. I had no job, no way to provide for her, no place to live. I couldn’t protect her. But I didn’t want to think about giving her up. She was mine for now.
“The decision must be yours to seek counseling. Winston and I have discussed the matter at great length.” Grace sighed as if those discussions had worn her out. “But in the end, we agree on that.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She gestured to a medium-size gift bag on the bed that I hadn’t noticed before. It was hot pink with a colorful blue-and-green butterfly tag dangling from the handle.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I’m not sure what it is. Your friend left it for you. He was adamant about me giving it to you.”
“He’s stubborn.”
“I’ll give you some privacy to open it. I’ll be downstairs. Think over what I said. I know you’ll make the right decision.”
I didn’t say anything, just turned my head to watch her go.
In a way, what Grace had said was manipulation. She was telling me without outright saying it that going to the shelter was what I should do, what Winston wanted for me.
I understood from experience now why Miranda had chafed under the pressure of living here. Her father was relentless, an unbending force, and her mother was just as resolute in her own way.
Staring at the gift bag, I crossed to the bed and leaned a hip next to it, wanting to know what was in it. Barry had gone to great lengths to get it to me.
Why was it so important? My eighteenth birthday was long past.
Biting down on my lip, I reached for it and drew it closer. It was a little heavy. The crepe paper stuffed inside the bag crinkled.
With a trembling finger, I touched the tag.To Addy with love,for your 18th birthday, Barry had written in his messy masculine scrawl.
My eyes filled again.
Curious, I wanted to open it, but I resisted. The girl that gift belonged to, the one who might have been his, was gone. She was just a dream. A wish. A what-if.
