Page 73 of Sighs By the Sea

When I reach Miranda’s condo complex, where my car is parked, the realization hits me again—Suzannah is alive. My wife, the woman I had written off as dead. A part of me had always held on to the hope that she might return, but now that she’s back, it feels like a cruel twist of fate. Damn her. For staying away. For not letting me know she was okay. For leaving George.

I reach my car, but the shock still has me paralyzed. I turn on the radio, letting the familiar sounds of a pop song wash over me. It’s one of Maggie’s favorites, and the thought of her brings a fresh wave of guilt.

Oh, Maggie. She’s probably hurting. Finding out the man you love is still married can’t be easy. I rest my forehead against the steering wheel, a sigh escaping me. I managed to hurt her without even trying.

Damn Suzannah. I’ll never forgive her for this. I was in prison for two years, and I thought of my son every single day. It was the hardest time of my life. How could she have done that?

But then, the rational part of me cuts through the anger. Because she’s sick, that little voice in my head says. I knew when she started taking the pills that things were spiraling, but there was nothing I could do. All the therapists and treatments seemed to only make things worse. Suzannah is sick, and I can’t fault her for that. Maybe the love I had for her is gone, replaced by anger and hurt, but I can’t just write her off.

I put the car in drive and head home. The drive is a blur, my mind too consumed to focus on anything but the mess my life has become. When I finally pull up to my place, I see Maggie sitting by the door, waiting for me. How did she…?

She stands as I approach. “Hi,” she says, her voice tentative.

“Hello, Maggie.” I give her a small smile, but my heart is racing. All I want is to wrap my arms around her, to apologize, to make things right.

“Can I come in? I think we should talk,” she says, her voice soft but serious.

“Of course. Can I cook you some dinner?” I offer, hoping to delay the inevitable conversation, to hold onto a shred of normalcy.

Her face is unreadable. "Let's just talk first." That doesn’t sound good. Her words send a pang of dread through me, and I feel my brows furrow in concern.

I unlock the door, and we step inside, the silence between us heavy. I can see the tension in her every movement, the way she’s hugging herself, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, though I know the answer. The way she’s acting, I can only assume she’s here to break things off. My life is a mess, and she doesn’t need to be caught up in it. We stand there, still in the foyer, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on us. Her mouth opens like she wants to say something, but then it snaps shut again.

Just as I’m about to demand she explain, she flings her arms around me. “Oh, Grayson. You have no idea.”

All the tension seeps out of my body as I pull her close. All I’ve wanted for the past two days is to hold her. I envelop her with my arms, rubbing calming circles on her back as her body trembles against me. “I might have some idea. But tell me, Maggie,” I whisper, my voice gentle.

She pulls back, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she grabs both of my hands. She takes a deep, shaky breath. “We found Suzannah.”

I’m quiet, absorbing the weight of her words. What can I say? Her honesty is almost too much, but I see the pain in her eyes and it’s almost my undoing. Still, I manage to keep my expression neutral.

“Your wife, Grayson. While investigating this contract, she popped up.”

I don’t know how she expects me to react, so I stay still, afraid that any movement might push her away. “Say something, Gray!” she pleads, her voice breaking.

“I know,” I finally say.

“You know?”

“Miranda told me, kind of.”

She squeezes my hands tighter. “But you’re so calm!”

I can’t help but chuckle, though it’s tinged with sadness. Her emotions are always so clear, written right in her beautiful eyes. And what I see there now reassures me—she doesn’t want to leave. She’s hurting for me. “I’m not calm inside, believe me.”

I walk over to the couch and take a seat, patting the cushion next to me. Her head tilts to the side, lips pressed into a thin line. “Gray, you don’t have to pretend with me,” she says as she sits beside me, curling up close. My arm automatically goes around her, my fingers tracing soft circles on her skin.

“I’m not pretending. I’m just in shock, I think.” She doesn’t speak, sensing that I have more to say. “I’m angry, mostly. That she stayed away. Not from me, but from George.”

“I saw her, Grayson. She thinks she’s too damaged to be around him.” Maggie tenses beneath me, and I pull her closer, trying to soothe her. These words aren’t meant to hurt her—they’re the truth, and somehow, they’re giving me the clarity I need. “She’s, uh, pregnant but sober.”

My hand freezes. My wife is pregnant with another man’s child. The anger bubbles up again, but I force myself to exhale slowly. “I’m so sorry, Gray. If you need me to leave…” she trails off, her voice trembling.

I shake my head firmly. “You being here is the only thing that feels right, Maggie.”

She turns to look up at me, her eyes searching mine. “You’re sure? I really thought you would hate me after this.”

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