Chapter 7
Elia POV:
After that horrific confrontation, I fled. I accepted an overseas design collaboration, packed my bags in a frantic rush, and left the country faster than I thought possible. For three months, I ignored Christian's calls, his texts, unable to reconcile the man who had promised to protect me with the stranger who had condemned me.
How could he change so much? How could he believe her over me, again? The questions echoed in my mind, an incessant, painful refrain.
His messages piled up on my phone. Elia, please. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you. I know I messed up. I've been loving you since we were kids. I thought we were meant to be. I'm not perfect, Elia, I make mistakes. Are you really going to throw away our future over one mistake?
His best friend, Daniel, even messaged me. Look, Christian messed up, yeah. But you know his heart. He's just trying to do the right thing by Gidget and the baby. Don't be so harsh, Elia. Don't throw away a lifetime of love for one wrong turn. And what if Gidget can't have another baby? What if you force her to abort, and she resents you forever? Christian is just trying to be kind.
Was I being too harsh? Too unforgiving? I missed Christian. I missed our conversations, our easy camaraderie. I missed him. The man who had been my everything.
I packed my bags again, a faint hope flickering in my chest. On the long flight home, I practiced smiling in the mirror, rehearsing a composure I didn't feel. I wanted to fix things. I wanted us back.
I unlocked the door to our apartment, the silence inside deafening. He wasn't home. A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. I went to the car to grab my spare keys, pulling the passenger door open.
A wave of Gidget's sickly sweet perfume assaulted my senses. My personal items were gone, replaced by a half-empty box of prenatal vitamins, a pregnancy pillow, and a baby blanket.
Was she living here? In our apartment? While I was gone? The anger, cold and sharp, flooded back, erasing all my rehearsed smiles.
I found them at the hospital, after frantic calls to his office and every local emergency room. Christian was sitting in the waiting room, his leg bandaged, Gidget hovering over him, fussing. My heart leaped into my throat.
"Christian! What happened? Are you okay?" I rushed to his side.
Gidget, seeing me, froze for a split second, then quickly composed herself, her face crumpling into a mask of tearful remorse. Her hand instinctively went to her stomach. "Elia!" she gasped, her voice trembling. "It's all my fault! You ran away, and Christian was so worried about you, he was distracted while driving. He got into an accident!"
She turned to Christian, her voice a dramatic whisper. "It's all my fault, darling. Please, don't be mad at Elia. She was just so stressed."
Christian looked up at me, his eyes red-rimmed, his gaze filled with a familiar disappointment. He said nothing.
I looked at his bandaged leg, at Gidget's performative tears, at his silent accusation. The anger drained out of me, replaced by a hollow ache. I nodded, defeated. "Okay," I whispered. "I'll stay."
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