Page 69 of This Woman Forever

“He asked to see me a few weeks ago, and I agreed. He’s no longer a member and we’re trying to make our marriage work.”

“That’s great.” I’m stumped. Is that why he didn’t answer my call? “Would you do me a favor?”

“Mr. Ward, I can’t make a pay?—”

“No, no, something else. Will you get Steve to give me a call? Not about anything sex related,” I quickly explain, feeling John’s exasperated look on me. “It’s about work. His work. I need his help.”

“I’ll let him know.”

“And the payment?”

“You need your banking details.”

I growl under my breath. “Fine.” I hang up, smashing the lid of my laptop down. “Awkward, bitter cow.”

John laughs. This isn’t funny. I’m a multi-millionaire, and I can’t access any of my money, only my credit card and current account, and I’m quite sure I can’t pay for a car on a card. “How’s Sarah?” I ask, not liking it when John’s writing hand pauses.

He puts the pen down and levels me with a serious look. “She’s in the hospital.”

I sit back in my chair, an odd ripple of dread moving through me. “What?”

“She tried to kill herself.”

Air catches at the back of my throat as I stare at John. His face is impassive, like he just told me something inconsequential. “She what?” She threatened it, but . . .

“I checked up on her Monday night. She didn’t answer. I had to break in. I found her on the kitchen floor, wrists slashed, dozens of empty pill pots around her.” He goes back to the pad he’s writing on. “I didn’t tell you because you’ve got enough on your plate.”

And because he didn’t want me to feel guilty. I feel so guilty. Fuck, what have I done? “What hospital?” I ask, standing.

He looks up at me. “No.”

I turn and walk out, dialing Sarah, and she answers after just one ring. “What hospital are you at?”

Silence. Surprise?

“Answer the question, Sarah.”

“The Royal London,” she says, sounding as meek as I’ve ever heard her sound. “They’ve discharged me. I’m waiting for a taxi.”

“Cancel it. I’m on my way.” I hang up, looking back at John stomping after me. “She’s been discharged.”

“Then I should go.”

“I’m going.”

“For fuck’s sake,” John mutters, reluctantly backing down, holding up a bunch of keys. Sarah’s. “You’ll need these. Call me.”

I reverse my steps and take them, my emotions all over the fucking place. Guilt, hurt, anger.

Drew’s coming up the steps as I’m leaving. “Where are you going?” he asks as I pass.

“Did you know Sarah’s in the hospital?” I question, trying and failing not to sound accusing. His silence speaks volumes. “And no one thought to tell me?”

“You’ve got enough on your plate,” Sam says, appearing on the steps with John.

“No, I fucking haven’t,” I yell. “Because my wife’s walked out on me, and I’m not allowed to even try and win her back so, actually, I’ve got fuck-all on my plate to deal with because I’m giving her fucking space!” I get in my car and wheel-spin off, blinking back the anger, because of all the emotions, that one’s the most potent. For someone who supposedly loves me, Sarah doesn’t half know how to stick the fucking knife in.

Fucking woman.

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