“It’s not. I hurt her. I can’t regret keeping you, but I do wish I’d at least talked to her. Thanked her for all she’d done.”
“I’m not sure she would have wanted to listen.” Shannon couldn’t imagine what the other woman had gone through, losing her baby at very last minute. Especially as there’d been no warning.
“Probably not,” Cindy agreed. “But I could have at least tried. I was so wrong.”
“You were a kid.”
“That’s no excuse for breaking someone’s heart.”
“We have to talk,” Ava said when they got home.
Victoria ignored her and made her way to the elevator. She jabbed the button and waited, then hurried inside. For once, the quick trip didn’t bother her. Honestly, she didn’t care if the damned thing got jammed. At least she would be alone.
Once she was in her room, she closed and locked the door before crossing to the bed and sitting down. She let her crutches fall to the floor.
There’d been another baby. Another child. Cindy had to have been young—a teenager maybe. She would have been scared and pregnant. Then she’d met Ava.
Victoria could imagine how it would have been. Her mother was the type to swoop in and take charge. She would have organized things, been a supporting shoulder, done all the reading, answered all the questions. Which meant what? That she’d been a part of the pregnancy? Had they been friends?
Victoria remembered her mother mentioning having seen pictures and then correcting herself. Not pictures. An ultrasound. Because she would have gone to every appointment, held Cindy’s hand through every difficult moment.
But at the last second, after the birth, Cindy had changed her mind. Victoria allowed herself a moment of compassion for her mother, knowing she would have been devastated. To lose a child like that, to have her taken away and know there was nothing to be done. All the months of hoping and planning and loving.
She felt oddly split in two. Part of her could see and imagine her mother’s crushing pain while at the same time she felt her own sadness as the truth was revealed. They’d wanted Shannon, but they’d ended up with her.
She bent down and collected her crutches before going out of her room and down the hall and pausing at the half-open door. When it had been time for her to graduate into her so-called big girl bed, rather than redecorate her room, her mother had moved her across the hall. The room she had now was bigger, with more windows. The bathroom was nicer. She’d never much thought about the move until now.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside. It remained as it had always been. A beautiful nursery for a happy baby girl.
The walls were the palest shade of gray, the drapes a gorgeous matte ivory silk. The furniture—the crib, a dresser and changing table, an occasional table with a lamp and a rocking chair—were all done in ivory. A neutral backdrop for the gloriously over-the-top mural on the far wall.
Fat, happy cherubs gazed down at wonderful animals grazing or resting on grass painted so realistically, she could practically smell it. There were the usual cows and horses, but also zebras and a giraffe, two hippos and even a tiger relaxing under a tree. Woven into all the patterns of their coats, into the tree bark and even the sashes the cherubs sported was her name.Victoriaplayed over and over, in leaves and even tiny blades of grass.
The floor-to-ceiling design had always been a favorite of hers. When she was sick, she would sit in the rocking chair and stare at the animals, smiling as she found yet another version of her name.
She crossed to it now, lightly tracing the letters in the tiger’s tail, searching for signs of the repainting that would have happened when they’d lost the child they’d really wanted. She saw a few smudges and places where the name wasn’t as crisp. As if the artist had been called back to make changes. After a few minutes, she turned away, brushing her hand across the nearly life-size stuffed llama that stood in the corner of the room.
She’d always loved this room, had thought it was special and perfect and done just for her. When she’d been younger, she’d always shown her friends her “baby room” and had thought her mom had kept it just like it had been for sentimental reasons. She’d once asked her mother if there was going to be another baby. Ava had turned away, but not before Victoria had seen the stark pain on her face. Pain she hadn’t understood. Ava had told her no—that they were happy to just have one child.
Now, as she sank to the floor and gave in to the tears, Victoria wondered about the more likely truth. There was no way her parents would have wanted to risk the pain again. The pain of losing so unfairly with no recourse. In all her life, Ava was in charge. She ran a foundation that she herself had funded. Her husband loved her so much he would do anything for her—agree to any request. For a long time Victoria had prided herself in being the only thing her mother couldn’t control.
Only now, with hindsight, she realized that her rebellions, her acts of independence, had been nothing to her mother. Not when compared with what she’d already gone through.
She wiped away tears and glanced around at the beautiful room. Had this ever really been hers? Or had it belonged to Shannon, only to be left empty when they’d lost the child theywanted? Had it simply been handed to her because it was ready and she was a baby, so why not?
From the hallway, she heard her father call her name. Before she could answer, he walked into the baby’s room and saw her. Concern darkened his eyes.
“There you are,” he said, getting on the floor and drawing her close.
She let him because she didn’t have it in her to fight. “Mom called you.”
“She did, and I came right home.”
“How is she?”
He stroked her head. “She’s worried about you.”
She supposed that was true but didn’t know what to do with the information.
