photo from the hospital.
Sitting beside him on the sofa, she presented the wallet displaying the pictures. “Here’s her first picture.”
He laughed. “She looks like a prune.”
“That’s from floating around in amniotic fluid for nine months.” She flipped to the next picture, the one taken at a studio when Trisha was three months old. “This one’s better.”
He sighed an “Ah,” and said, “She was adorable.”
Hearing the emotion in his voice, she slid the picture from its wallet slot. “You can have this one.”
His gaze shot to hers. “I can?”
She quickly looked away. “Sure. I have lots of photos that I can send you.”
“I—” He swallowed. “Thanks.”
She felt the weird vibe again. She’d hated this man, feared him for so long that she’d kept his child from him. And now here they were sitting together, talking like normal people, when inside he probably disliked her as much for keeping Trisha from him as she disliked him for ruining their marriage.
She handed him her wallet and rose from the sofa, getting away from him. “The next six or eight pictures are Trisha. Just go ahead and flip through.”
He did as she asked, pausing over every picture in the wallet, intensifying her guilt. Especially since she was standing in the house where she’d loved him. Where they’d been so happy.
But a quick glance at the window sliced through all her good memories and brought her back to reality. He’d broken that window the night she’d left. She hadn’t been wrong to run. She might have been able to stay if she’d only had herself to think about. But she’d had a baby. An unborn bundle of joy. And he had been escalating. His behavior got worse every day. She’d done the right thing.
After a minute, he handed the wallet back to her. “Those are—” He sucked in a breath. “I can’t even describe what I feel.”
She brusquely took the wallet. Shoved it into her purse. Ready to head for the door, she said, “I’ll send you my extra photos. I’ll make sure I get one from every stage of her life so far.”
Before she could even turn to make her escape, he said, “How about her teeth? I notice two of them are missing.”
She hesitated. The door beckoned. But in the end, she turned around. She owed him at least one conversation to catch him up on what he’d missed.
“She lost those last month. Together.” She gingerly sat on the chair again. “It scared her to death, but when the tooth fairy put a twenty-dollar bill under her pillow she got over it.”
He chuckled. The deep, rich sound brought back a happy memory of him lifting her off her feet and twirling her around as he laughed. Sadness rattled through her. She hadn’t thought of that in eight years.
She hadn’t thought any good thing about him in eight years—probably longer. All the memories of their love had been blackened by memories of his drinking. In a sense, their good times had been stolen from her. But here in this house, with sober Max, they were coming back to her. And, oh, how she’d missed those.
She glanced around again, her heart in her throat. Remembering those wonderful things from the beginning of their marriage might be risky, but she didn’t care. Just for ten minutes, she wanted to be reminded that she hadn’t been an idiot who’d fallen for a drunk, but a normal girl who’d fallen for a wonderful guy.
“The tooth fairy, huh?”
Knocked out of her reverie, she faced him again. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure she knows it’s me who leaves the money, but she’s okay with it.”
“I guess she no longer believes in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, that kind of stuff.”
“No. You missed those.”
She’d meant that to sound flippant and fun. Instead, when the words left her mouth the room became silent.
And stayed silent so long that she couldn’t take it anymore. The big elephant in the room was that he might have been a drunk, but she’d hidden his child from him. She’d had good reason. Tons of good reasons. But could a woman really keep a child from her father without at least a little remorse? A sense of responsibility for hurting him, no matter how bad a husband he’d been?
“I’m sorry.”
He glanced up sharply, caught her gaze. “For what?”
“For hurting you by keeping Trisha from you.”
“You did what you had to do.”
Relief saturated her. “You accept that?”
“I have to.”
“Part of twelve steps?”
“In a roundabout way.”
He was so calm. So accepting. So different.
Confused, she scooped her glass of iced tea from the coffee table. He genuinely seemed committed. And that could be nothing but good for Trisha. But it also intensified her guilt.
“So,” he said, obviously changing the subject. “I noticed she had a lot of dolls.”
“Most little girls do.”
“Going to be weird for me to insinuate myself into her life.”
Since he was trying and she was tired of feeling guilty, maybe she should just do what he was doing—pretend nothing was wrong? “I’ll help you.”
“That’d be great.”
He smiled a genuine smile and her heart swelled with longing as her brain filled with memories of him before he’d started drinking, when he was young, happy, downright silly sometimes.
The conversation died again. She glanced around at the room she’d decorated and looked beyond it to her kitchen, her living room. Even the foyer tables, lamps and art that were her choices.
He’d loved her. He’d loved her enough to give her a free hand and then enjoy what she’d chosen. They’d been so happy—
Tears blurred her eyes and she bounced out of her seat. “You know what? I’ve gotta go.”
He rose. “Okay.”
She raced toward the French doors. Damn him for being so accommodating! So nice. So easygoing now. Now, when it didn’t matter. Now, when there was no going back.
The sense of loss swelled in her. Halfway to the doors, she spun around. “You ruined it.”
He didn’t even attempt to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about. “I know.”
“We had it all! Everything other couples longed for. Money. A house. A great sex life. Laughter. And you threw it all away!”
“Why
