Chapter Fifteen: The Beginning
1089 Words
Lena looked at him for a long, long time. The rain had slowed to a soft patter against the windows, no longer the furious assault of earlier but a gentle lullaby. The wind had died to a whisper, barely audible. The candles burned low, their flames flickering in the darkness, casting soft shadows on the walls. Somewhere in the distance, the waves of the harbor whispered against the shore, steady and patient.
She thought of everything that had brought her here. The contract with its twenty-three pages of poison. The cold wedding with its seven-minute ceremony and no flowers. The lonely months in the east wing, eating cold salmon at a table for one. The night that changed everything — the night he had said stay and meant it. The ultrasound, the tiny flicker of a heartbeat on a black-and-white screen. The escape, driving away from the manor with nothing but a suitcase and a prayer. The long bus ride to a town she had never seen, carrying a secret that weighed more than the world.
She thought of her father, alone in his hospital room, not knowing where she was. She thought of her mother, buried in the yellow dress she had worn on her wedding day. She thought of the baby — the tiny, impossible, precious baby — who had given her the strength to run when she had nothing left.
She thought of Damian. The man who had offered her twenty million dollars to kill their child. The man who had held her in the dark and whispered stay like it was the only word that mattered. The man who had read Wuthering Heights three times because he was trying to understand love. The man who had walked through a storm to find her, soaking wet, holding a crushed flower and a worn-out book.
People don't change, a voice whispered in her head. He'll hurt you again. He'll break your heart.
But another voice whispered louder. Look at him. He's on his knees. He's crying. He tore up the contract. He read seventeen baby books. He's trying.
She thought of her father's voice: "Trust your gut, sweetheart."
Her gut said: Don't wait. Don't make him wait.
She looked down at Damian. He was still kneeling on the worn wooden floor, his hands pressed against her belly, his face wet with tears that wouldn't stop. His shoulders shook. His breath came in ragged gasps. He looked broken. He looked desperate. He looked like a man who had finally realized what he had almost lost.
She reached down and touched his face. His skin was warm under her fingers. His stubble was rough against her palm.
"Get up," she said softly.
He didn't move. "I can't."
"Damian—"
"I can't get up until you tell me I'm forgiven." His voice cracked on the last word. "I can't get up until you tell me you'll give me a chance. I'll stay here all night if I have to. I'll stay here forever."
Lena's heart ached. It ached so much she thought it might split open.
"You're ridiculous," she said.
"I know."
"You're impossible."
"I know."
"You're the most infuriating man I have ever met."
"I know." A small, broken smile flickered across his tear-streaked face. "Does that mean you'll give me a chance?"
Lena took a deep breath. The baby kicked — a soft, gentle movement, almost like a blessing.
"Yes," she said. "One chance. That's all you get. Don't waste it."
Damian's face crumpled like paper. He climbed to his feet, his legs unsteady, his hands still trembling. Then he pulled her into his arms and held her. Not carefully. Not gently. Like she was the only solid thing in a world that had turned to water.
They stayed like that for a long time. The candles burned lower. The rain stopped entirely. The wind fell silent. The only sounds were their breathing and the distant cry of gulls.
Lena buried her face in Damian's chest. He smelled like rain and wool and something she couldn't name — something that felt like home.
"You're going to be a father," she said into his shirt.
"I know."
"In less than a month."
"I know." His arms tightened around her. "I've been reading books. Baby books. Parenting books. Everything I could find."
Lena pulled back and looked at him. His eyes were red. His cheeks were tear-stained. "You've been reading baby books?"
"Seventeen of them." His cheeks flushed. "I know the difference between a swaddle and a sleep sack. I know how to burp a newborn. I know to support the head and never shake the baby."
Lena stared at him. This was not the man she had married. This was someone softer. Someone trying.
"When did you read seventeen baby books?" she asked.
"After you left. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I couldn't think about anything except you and the baby. So I read. I read everything I could find." His voice dropped. "I wanted to be ready. In case you ever let me come back."
Lena's eyes burned.
"You're an i***t," she whispered.
"I know."
"But you're my idiot." She pressed her hand to his chest, over his heart. "And you're going to be a good father. Not because you're perfect. Because you're trying."
Damian's breath shuddered out of him.
"I love you," he said. "I love you so much it scares me."
"Good," she said. "Fear means you have something to lose. That's called being human."
Margo appeared in the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed. "Well," she said. "Are you two done being dramatic?"
Damian stiffened. Lena laughed. "We're done."
"Good." Margo jerked her head toward the stairs. "There's a spare bed in the storage room. It's not fancy, but it's dry. You can sleep there tonight."
Damian looked at Lena. "If that's okay with you."
Lena nodded. "It's okay."
Margo disappeared back into the kitchen. Damian took Lena's hand. His fingers intertwined with hers.
"Thank you," he said.
"For what?"
"For not slamming the door in my face."
"I thought about it."
"I know." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "But you didn't."
Lena squeezed his fingers. "One chance," she reminded him.
"I know."
"Don't waste it."
"I won't."
They stood there in the candlelight, hands intertwined, the baby kicking between them. The storm had passed. The worst was over. And for the first time in months, Lena believed that maybe — just maybe — everything would be okay.
- Writer
