Page 42 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

But he spoke before she had time to cut him off. “The baby,” he said. “What a mess that was. Your mother told me all about that. Such a terrible, terrible thing for them.”

“Terrible for them?”

“Yes. To have such shame brought on the family.”

She gripped the phone tighter. Peter was speaking, but she was done listening. His words were an echo somewhere far away. She wasn’t even angry with her mother for telling him. No, this was her fault. She’d put herself in a place where her mother could cause pain, and she’d used it. Almost like blaming a lion for eating the person standing right in front of them. “My mother told you?”

“She wanted me to know what I was getting into. What I--”

“What you were getting into? Do you just think up this shit? Is there a manual on how to be a … an …” She stumbled for the right word. The English word William used. “Total and utter tosser?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Yes,” she said. “You can beg. You can beg for this money. I don’t have it. I’m not coming home, and you can stick your contract wherever the hell you want.” Her chest hurt with the way she held herself—all tight and no movement. Her shoulders ached with it, and she raised her leg onto the seat so she could bring her knee up to her chest and wrap herself in the woollen warmth of William’s sweater.

“It’s a legal binding contract, Rosie. There isn’t a choice here. You have a contract with me. You honour it or buy your way out. There is no third option. If you make me take legal action, and I will, what do you think your man will think? What will he say when he has to sell his home because your pile has landed firmly at his feet? Will he want you then? Will he be willing to give up everything for you? There’ll be costs, charges, the list goes on.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Am I? We’ll see. Sign it or come home. Simple as that.” Then he hung up, leaving her to clutch the phone to the side of her head so much that it dug into her skin.

She’d not go home. She couldn’t.

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