Why?
She didn’t bother texting me about where she’s going.
Panic claws at my throat. I try to tell myself it’s irrational, but is it? Is she running? Did she take a pregnancy test and freak out?
She doesn’t know about the marriage yet, so she may be under the delusion that she can still escape me.
Worst-case scenarios race through my mind. She’s leaving. Going to the cops. Going back to Ryder.
The dot stops.
Zooming in reveals the location.
Buzzed.A coffee shop on the outskirts of Emerald Hills, on the Mulberry side.
Air rushes out of my lungs. Coffee. She’s getting coffee. She’s late, though. Should she have coffee if she’s pregnant?
And why the fuck didn't she tell me she was leaving?
My shaking fingers tap at the screen, accessing the remote security feed for the shop. I own the building. I own half the commercial real estate in Emerald Hills.
I pace while the grainy black-and-white footage loads.
There she is.
I blow out a slow breath as my heartrate starts to slow.
She sits at a corner table, wearing the cream coat that makes her look like an angel. Her laptop’s open on the table in front of her as she sips from an oversized ceramic mug.
She’s not alone.
A woman sits across from her. Middle-aged, dressed in a pantsuit. They’re talking. Blair gestures at the screen, smiling. She’s animated and looks happy.
She’s working.
With that realization, the last of my panic recedes, replaced by a complicated knot of pride and irritation.
She’s taking a meeting. Pitching a client. Doing exactly what she said she would do—rebuilding.
But she didn't say a word to me about any of this.
She asserted independence. Left my house, got in her car, and went into the world without checking in.
It shouldn't bother me. She’s an adult. A business owner.
But the monster inside, the one that just legally trapped her and is currently tracking her cycle while trying to knock her up, hates it. It hates that she has a life outside of this. It hates that for the last little while, thoughts of me haven't crossed her mind.
On the screen, she laughs at something the woman says.
She’s radiant.
She looks like she doesn't need me.
That’s the fear. That’s the wound that never heals. If she doesn't need me, why would she stay?
I close out of the feed.
Dragging her home isn't an option. Storming in there and demanding she return home and give up her dreams will only push her away.
