First Love and Second Chances

Chapter One Margaret’s POV “Margaret!” a voice calls, pulling me out of my thoughts. It’s Clara, the art curator who insisted she could make the rooftop look “museum-worthy” with a few sculptures and paintings. To her credit, she did a wonderful job. “Clara,” I say with a polite smile as she approaches. She’s wearing a bright red dress that hugs her frame perfectly, her blonde hair falling like silk over her shoulders. “You’re enjoying yourself, I hope?” “Oh, absolutely,” she replies, her blue eyes sparkling as she takes a sip from her champagne glass. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight, Margaret. As usual.” “Thank you. I’m glad everything’s coming together.” She pauses, tilting her head. “Are you okay? You seem… distracted.” “I’m fine,” I say quickly, glancing back toward McCarty. He’s still talking to his group, his laughter ringing out again. Clara follows my gaze, and a small, unreadable smile tugs at her lips. “McCarty’s quite the star tonight.” “He always is,” I murmur. “True,” she says, the corner of her mouth curling as if she knows something I don’t. “He has a way of drawing people to him, doesn’t he?” I nod but don’t say anything. There’s something in Clara’s tone that makes me uneasy, but I push it away. Tonight is not the night to get paranoid. “Excuse me,” I say, stepping away before she can ask more questions. I make my way across the rooftop, my heels clicking softly against the stone. As I approach McCarty, he catches sight of me, and his smile softens. “There she is,” he says, excusing himself from the group. He meets me halfway and slides an arm around my waist, pulling me close. “Hey, you.” “Hey,” I reply, looking up at him. His warmth feels so good against the cold night. “You’ve done an incredible job tonight,” he says, brushing his lips lightly against my temple. “Everyone’s talking about how perfect it is.” “I’m glad they’re happy.” “Are you happy?” he asks, his hazel eyes scanning my face. I hesitate for just a moment. “I think I will be when the clock hits midnight.” “Hmm, suspenseful.” He grins. “Any particular reason?” “There might be,” I tease, but my voice catches in my throat. I want to tell him now, but it feels too big to drop in the middle of the party. Midnight is better. Midnight is magic. “Well, whatever it is, I can’t wait,” he says, squeezing my waist gently. “Let me grab us a couple of drinks, and we’ll toast to it when the fireworks go off, okay?” “Okay,” I say softly. He leans down, presses a quick kiss to my lips, and then heads toward the bar. My heart flutters the way it always does when he’s close to me. It’s going to be fine, I remind myself. He loves me. We’ve had our struggles, but tonight feels like the start of something new. I take a deep breath, watching him as he stops near the bar. He says something to the bartender, then turns slightly. That’s when I see her. Clara. She slides up next to him with her red dress and her perfect smile. She touches his arm lightly, tilting her head as she says something. McCarty laughs—an easy, open laugh that makes my stomach twist. It’s nothing, I tell myself. Clara flirts with everyone. McCarty’s just being polite. I look away, trying to focus on the guests around me, but my eyes are pulled back like magnets. Clara leans closer now, her lips moving as she whispers something into his ear. McCarty smiles again, and then—he looks at her. Really looks at her. Like she’s the most interesting person in the world. He says something back, and she laughs, her hand lingering on his arm. My chest tightens. It’s like I’ve been punched, though no one else seems to notice. Around me, people are laughing, drinking, dancing. The countdown to midnight has begun, but all I can see is them. Clara leans in again, and this time, McCarty doesn’t move away. His smile grows, and for the briefest moment, his eyes drop to her lips. I feel sick. “Ten!” The crowd’s voices rise in unison. I can’t move. “Nine!” Clara’s hand rests on his chest. “Eight!” McCarty says something I can’t hear, and her laugh rings out again—sharp and clear. “Seven!” I taste bile in my throat. “Six!” The clock is ticking down, but I’m frozen in place. “Five!” I force myself to take a step back. “Four!” Another step. The crowd is a blur. “Three!” I turn and walk toward the exit. “Two!” Tears sting my eyes, and I blink them back furiously. “One!” The fireworks explode, lighting up the sky in golds and silvers. Cheers erupt all around, glasses clink, and people kiss beneath the bursts of light. I don’t look back. The elevator ride down feels endless. I don’t cry. I refuse to cry. My hands shake as I press the button for the lobby, my coat wrapped tightly around me. I need to get out of here. I need air. When the doors open, the noise from the party above feels like it belongs to another world. I step outside into the freezing night, the sharp wind biting at my face. The street is empty and quiet, save for the distant sound of fireworks and a few passing cars. I pull out my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I find Emily’s name. My sister picks up on the second ring. “Margaret? Happy New Year!” “Can you pick me up?” My voice comes out small, shaky. There’s a pause. “What happened? Where’s McCarty?” “Just… please come.” “I’m on my way,” she says, her voice softening. I hang up and wrap my arms around myself as I lean against the cold brick of the building. My stomach twists, a horrible mixture of anger and sadness clawing at me. The tears I fought so hard to hold back spill over, hot against my cold skin. McCarty. My husband. I thought tonight was going to be perfect. I thought we were going to start over. I was going to tell him about the baby—the little life growing inside me, a life that could bring us closer together. But now, all I can see is the way he looked at her. The way he smiled at her. The way he let her touch him like it meant nothing. It’s not nothing. Emily’s car pulls up a few minutes later, and she jumps out the moment she sees me. “Margaret!” She rushes over, her brown eyes wide with concern. “What happened? You’re freezing.” I shake my head, unable to speak. She wraps her arms around me, holding me tightly. “Come on,” she says softly, guiding me to the car. “Let’s get you home.” The apartment feels cold and empty when I step inside. I pull off my heels and coat, letting them drop carelessly onto the floor. Emily follows behind me, her face pinched with worry. “Margaret, talk to me,” she says as I collapse onto the couch. I stare at the floor, my voice barely a whisper. “I saw him. With Clara.” “What do you mean?” “They were at the bar,” I say, my throat burning. “She was… close to him. Touching him. Laughing. And he—he let her. He smiled at her.” Emily sits down beside me, her jaw tightening. “That son of a—” “It’s not the first time, Em,” I say quietly. “It’s not the first time I’ve felt like I’m not enough for him.” She takes my hand, squeezing it tightly. “You are enough. You hear me? You are more than enough.” I nod, though I don’t believe it. “Did you tell him about…” She glances at my stomach. I shake my head. “No. I couldn’t.” Emily exhales sharply. “Margaret, what are you going to do?”