Meredith shot me a quick but stern look, as if to say,Don’t make me regret this.
Her unspoken words weren’t lost on me. I knew this was my final chance. If I screwed this up, I was finished.
Saturday morning, Ellie convinced me to take a little break from agonizing over the Torres presentation. Though Sam and Meredith had both signed off on the final draft, I couldn’t help but read it over and over again—I was getting a little obsessive. We decided to catch the latest rom-com playing at the local movie theater, then head down to Pier 39 to eat our favorite clam chowder sourdough bread bowls while spotting seals.
The movie was fantastic, and successfully helped clear my mind of my worries for a while. Later, Ellie left for her dinner shift at the bistro, and I sprawled on her couch,Friendsreruns playing in the background. I reached for my phone and started scrolling through social media.Oh, how cute!A high school friend had just had her second baby. I hit Like.
The next photo set off alarm bells in my mind.
It was a post by someone named Liz Montrose. She was extending her arm up toward the ceiling in order to capture herself and several other women in a big selfie.
My heart started beating faster. The woman next to her was Madison, wearing a teal blue racerback dress, her brown locks cascading in gentle waves around her. She wore a sash across her chest that said “Mommy To Be,” and was standing in front of a banner flanked by bunches of balloons. The banner read, “Welcome, Baby Charlie!”
The phone shook in my grasp as I read the post.
“So excited to celebrate this gorgeous mommy-to-be today! Just a few more weeks until we get to meet Baby Charlie!”
“Baby Charlie?” I yelled to Ellie’s empty living room. “She thinks she gets to name my child?” Blood thundered in my ears.
I stood up, my phone falling onto the couch, and started pacing, one hand on my belly and the other on my chest, trying to hold in the furious scream that wanted to escape. Tears burned the backs of my eyelids.
Max said he would put a stop to all of this! He said I had nothing to worry about anymore.How stupid I was to believe him for even a second.
That was it—I was going to call him. His phone rang and rang, until his voicemail picked up. I hung up and dialed again, with the same result.
“Where the hell are you?” I shouted into the phone. Max had promised to keep his phone on him at all times in case I went into early labor.So much for promises.
I pulled the offending photo back up on my phone and glared angrily at it. Then I noticed the time stamp—it had been posted just thirty-four minutes ago.This is happening now! A baby shower for MY child. The child she thinks is going to be hers.
I looked at the background of the photo and noticed that the banner was hung over a table near a sliding glass door that opened to a balcony. I recognized that balcony. Max’s apartment.
A fire ignited inside me. I took two swift steps toward the front door—then stopped.
Am I really doing this?
Max’s repeated admonition rang in my ears:Just calm down, Savannah.
No. I was done being calm.
I put my sneakers on, grabbed my jacket and keys, and headed out the front door.
CHAPTER21
THESHORT WALKto Max’s front door from where I parked gave me a moment to gather my thoughts. I felt like a boxer waiting for her name to be called before charging into the ring.
I didn’t bother knocking—the doorknob turned in my hand. I pushed the door open and entered the living room.
I could hear voices and light music coming from the back of the apartment. I stalked down the hall until I came to the open-concept kitchen-dining room area that led to the balcony. The words “Welcome, Baby Charlie!” filled the room, taunting me.
At first, no one noticed me. The impeccably dressed young women—in their Lilly Pulitzer dresses, Pandora charm bracelets, and stylish ankle booties—stood around, smiling, sipping champagne out of skinny flutes, and making mindless chitchat, oblivious to the explosive fury burning through every inch of my body, just a few feet from them.
And there was Madison herself, beaming with pride, standing next to a chic, middle-aged woman in a Chanel skirt suit, giant pearls dangling from her ears and circling her throat, her short gray-blonde pixie cut bobbing up and down as she laughed at something another woman said.Nora Clark.
“Madison!” I shouted.
One could practically hear the record scratch as the party ground to a halt. All heads in the room snapped in unison in my direction. But I only had eyes for one person: Madison.
At first, her eyes widened with surprise. Then a slick, evil smile lifted the corners of her mouth.
