Page 52 of Twisted

16

Maisie

Two Years Ago

(Maisie is 24)

“Can we wait to discuss this, Carter?” Maisie hissed, her grip on the stem of the wine glass tightening to a painful degree. It was white wine, of course, but to her it was sparkling cider. She was just shy of her tenth week of pregnancy, and Carter had finally snapped the puzzle pieces together two weeks ago. She’d not told him whose she believed it to be, though there was a stormy, malicious glint in his eye that told her he already knew.

They stood near their grand fireplace in their living room—the very same place Randy had forced himself upon her. She wondered if it was irony or something sickly poetic to be standing in the same place discussing the aftershocks of that event. Either way, the fights her and her unhinged husband had been having as of late were intense.

Cocktail parties were a lavish expectation for Randy and Carter to throw—and for their dutiful wives to slave over beforehand. Being pregnant and constantly sick, Maisie’d had it catered, and Carter was less than pleased.

“You went behind my back and got knocked up like the little whore I met when she was working at a fucking gas station,” he hissed, leaning in to whisper his harsh words, his face contorted in familiar rage. His words hurt, but not enough, not anymore; she didn’t care who fathered the child, or how it had come to be. She’d wanted to be a mother since she was a little girl, and all the promises Carter had made to her regarding a future family had been snatched from her hands when he’d told her he didn’t want any.

Her desperate pleas to become a mother fell on her husband’s deaf ears; he would never be a father, and if Maisie couldn’t come to terms with that, he promised to make her already hellish life far worse. She’d secretly quit her birth control, but that amounted to nothing; with Carter fucking Lindsay, Maisie hadn’t slept with anyone until Randy happened.

Now that she had a child in her womb, she couldn’t let go of it. No matter how it had been conceived, Maisie knew she would still love it. How could she not? It was part of her.

“I took you from poverty to being a fucking queen, Maisie. This is the way you thank me?” he spat. She would have been afraid—the look in his eyes was familiar and terrifying, but for some reason the thought of the child in her belly gave her the will to fight back, to protect what was hers and hers alone.

“Sorry that while you were off fucking that whore Lindsay I was here gettingraped,” she growled, leaning into his face, throwing his words into the fire and breathing her own flames back like a voracious dragon.

He didn’t blink. He didn’t wince. He made no indication that her words stung him, or that he cared about his wife’s well-being. He was cold and calculating, but behind that mask, he was livid.

“I’m making you an appointment next week to get it taken care of. Say goodbye to your precious baby.”

Tears pricked her eyes as the bottom of her world fell out beneath her feet. She was drowning in his gaze, dizzy and lost and sick to her stomach. He was…making her abort the baby? For what reason?

Lips twisted to form the question, she paused and swallowed the words. She knew why; Carter refused to share her with anyone, even a child, because his control over her would slip and fall away the moment that baby was born. She began to see him anew in that moment, as glasses clinked and people chatted nearby, unaware of the heated words shared between impassioned spouses.

“No.”

His shoulders tensed.

“You’ll come to see why it’s best, Maisie, I assure you that.”

Quirking her head to the side to better study this man she’d shared her life with, she saw the undercurrents of his cloaked words.

“You’re threatening me,” she breathed out, stunned. “Divorce me, then. See if I fuckin’ care.”

A wicked smirk lit his features.

“Divorce? You aren’t taking the easy way out on this one.”

Emboldened, the grip on her glass tightened even more as her frame quaked with pent up rage.

“You ain’t touchin’ my baby!”

The room stilled, pausing to gather what her outburst meant, before the chattering resumed. It was too late, though. A shadow crept over her, and she didn’t need to turn to see who it was.

“Baby? You’re pregnant, Maisie?”

Lindsay and Randy stood together near the arguing couple, beers in hand. Composing herself, Maisie turned and attempted a watery smile at Lindsay alone. The affair with Carter meant little to her now; she wanted out. Randy’s presence, however, seemed to choke her.

“Seems that way,” she whispered, forcing the lump down her throat as her hands trembled. Randy was staring at her, wide eyed and shocked. Lindsay, in a matter of a few seconds, made the connection. It had killed Maisie to hear Carter didn’t want kids, and so she’d reached out to Lindsay to explain that pain to her last year.

Lindsay knew Carter wouldn’t father children.

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