Tense silence engulfs us, and she grips the steering wheel tighter. “I heard about what went down in the ballroom,” she says after a few seconds have passed, rounding the next bend. She looks me square in the eye. “I’ve been expecting you.”
We don’t speak again until we’re at a small table tucked into the back of the unassuming coffee place. “Drew can join us if he likes,” she offers after we’ve placed our order.
“Thank you, but I think it’s best he keeps watch from outside. Just in case.”
“Okay.” She clasps her hands on top of the table, pinning her piercing blue eyes on me. It’s hard to look at her face and not see the resemblance to Trent. “What do you want to know?”
“What happened to the child my mother was expecting? Because it was that pregnancy that sealed her fate and forced her into marriage to my father, right?”
“How much do you want to know, Abby? Because some of this won’t be pleasant to hear.”
The waitress sets our pie and coffee down, and I wait until she’s gone before replying. “I want to know it all, Sylvia. Hold nothing back. I know how the elite work, and I doubt there’s much you can say that’ll shock me.”
“That truly hurts to hear,” she admits, placing her hand over mine. “Your mother fought so hard to protect you both so you wouldn’t have to endure the things she’d endured,we’dendured.” A shuddering breath leaves her lips as she stares off into space.
“What happened to the baby?” I ask, holding my breath in anticipation.
She shoots me a sympathetic look, squeezing my hand. “The baby was stillborn.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“I’d wondered if that was the case or if we had another sibling out there somewhere,” I admit, feeling a pang of sorrow in my heart.
“Your father discovered the child was Atticus’s, and he beat Olivia so badly she lost the baby.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I swallow hard over the tormented lump in my throat.
He stole her baby from her too.
She squeezes my hand. “Your mother knew the baby had died because he’d stopped moving inside her, but your father refused to bring her to the hospital.”
“It was a boy?” I whisper.
She nods. “She was only four weeks away from her due date, and that bastard locked her in her bedroom until she went into labor.”
My hand shakes as I bring the mug to my lips, sipping the hot liquid, barely feeling it scald my raw throat as I contemplate the horror of living through that.
Knowing your husband killed your child and being forced to live with that until it was the time for the delivery must have been sheer hell.
And imagine going through that pain knowing there was no joyful bundle at the end.
A sob escapes my mouth, and I set my mug down, spilling coffee on the table.
Sylvia gets up, rounding the table and putting her arm around me. “I’m so sorry, Abby.”
“He killed my babies too,” I blurt, swiping at the hot tears coursing down my face.
“What?” Her shocked tone matches the mounting shock on her face as I explain.
“Oh my God, Abby. I’m so sorry he did that to you!” She lets me go, pulling her chair over beside mine and sitting down. Her arms encircle me again, and I accept her comfort willingly. “I should’ve done more for you.” Genuine remorse flickers in her eyes. “Your mother would be so disappointed in me.”
“We weren’t your responsibility, and I know what those bastards are like. Father wouldn’t have let you intervene.”
“I tried, at the start, after your mother died. You probably don’t remember, but you and Drew used to sleep over at our house every weekend.” Her lips pull into a tight line. “It wasn’t much, but I tried to do fun stuff with all of you, so you had some time to just be normal children, but your father eventually put a stop to it.”
She grips the edge of the table. “I went to your house, to plead with him to reconsider and… Well, it didn’t go as I’d planned.” Her face is as white as the tablecloth.
“What did he do to you?”
