Page 82 of Marry Me, Maybe?
“I’ll be here when you need me.”
“Thanks, Matt. I appreciate you being here tonight more than you know.”
I lingered for a minute more, listening to Hudson murmuring low under his breath, a familiar song I recognized from earlier that day—one she’d made him sing to her duringbath time. Slowly, her flailing quieted. The sobs turned to sniffles. Her tiny body curled inward, inching toward the safety of his presence without ever opening her eyes.
I stepped back, swallowing hard.
He was a better father than I gave him credit for.
The living room was a mess. The aftermath of a bomb that looked suspiciously like our past had exploded all over it. Clothes from the day, the box of papers, my shoes kicked off under the coffee table. It felt like a strange metaphor for how my heart looked inside.
I might not know how to take care of Ivy, but I could help out so he would have it easier in the morning. I cleaned up quietly, slowly. Piece by piece, I picked up Ivy’s toys, stacked books, and shoved the box lid aside from earlier.
Bitterness turned my stomach hard. My mother. She’d interfered in my relationship with Hudson. If she hadn’t threatened him…put doubts in his mind about us, how different could our lives have been?
Or maybe Hudson would still have chosen Heather because of Ivy, but I would never know.
She couldn’t get away with this. She had no right to interfere with my love life. Did Dad know what she’d done?
In the crease between the couch cushions, I found a long paper roll circled by a rubber band. It must have fallen out.
My stomach twisted. Hudson hadn’t shown that one to me earlier.
I plucked it out and straightened it, smoothing out the old, creased edges.
A marriage certificate.
I tugged off the band, frowning as I unrolled it fully. The names on it were familiar. Too familiar.
Hudson Philip Granger.
Heather Rosalie Martin.
I stared at the document, my heart thudding. The wedding date was a month after I returned to college. The urge to crush the reminder of how we’d ended into my fist was strong, but I didn’t because it was Hudson’s property, not mine.
I blinked. Once. Twice. Leaned in closer.
Hudson’s signature was there, dark and certain. But the line beneath it, the one meant for her, was empty.
No ink. Just a smooth, unbroken line.
Heather had never signed.
I tightened my fingers around the edge of the paper. She never signed the marriage license. How could she not have signed the marriage license?
What the fuck was going on?
I read it again as if the answer would change.
Hudson had signed.
She hadn’t.
The license in my hand was never certified by the county clerk’s office.
They were never married.
And yet, he let me believe they were.
