Page 93 of Perfect Composition
With that one sentence, it occurs to me he’s always been like this: commanding, demanding, and expecting. And alongside that realization comes another.
He expects me to just forgive him.
As a doctor, I’ve agreed with my colleagues about many things. One of them is being an advocate for loved ones to be close after a major medical procedure. It’s so critical, the NIH has run studies on how active involvement of family caregivers has the potential to improve patient outcomes. But while it documented the family caregiver’s attitude, nothing would have prepared them for the bitter resentment and fury surging through me.
All because I’m standing here.
The volunteer hesitates since I don’t make a move toward him. Finally, I break the awkward tension. “Why don’t you get Mr. Kensington settled back in his room? Then I’ll be in to speak with him.”
Shock crosses my father’s face, so it’s easy for the volunteer to steer him away from me.
I stomp off down the hall, needing a few moments to just breathe. I’ve seen him so many times unresponsive since surgery, I didn’t expect the emotions that would return like a shot full broadside when he was on his feet. Slipping into one of the private rooms, I run a shaky hand over my hair. “It’s almost worse than the night on the porch.”
I begin pacing back and forth in agitation. I have to get myself together before I walk into that room. I deliberately dredge up the conversations during the first few months I was pregnant with Austyn.
“Are you sure you don’t want to get rid of it?” my father asks me.
“It’s my baby. It’s a…”
“Mistake. It’s a mistake, Paigey. One no one needs to know about.”
“I’d know. I’d always know.”
He storms up to me so fast, I almost trip backing away from him. “You’re going to know anyway, girl. What in the hell were you thinking?” he roars.
I’m afraid of answering what’s in my heart.
No longer shaking, I stride to the door of his room and knock. The volunteer opens the door, starts to say something, but then quickly excuses herself.
I don’t give my father time to speak. I launch in with deadly calmness. “I was thinking I was in love. I was thinking I loved every piece of the boy who gave me that child. And the child that lived beneath my heart would help me live the rest of my life without him. And if you had loved me that way, maybe you wouldn’t have asked me that question.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t let him. “You called her an abomination, you bastard. You asked me to abort her. You lied to all of us—starting with me, Jesse, and Ethan. Then, let’s add in your granddaughter and Beckett. Yet you expect me to forget? To forgive? To move on as if your own actions merit me kowtowing to your every whim?”
“It would be a shame for me to let your colleagues know you’ve been uncooperative, Paige. And you’re a doctor…”
“Do it!” I shout. “Just do it. All you’re doing is solidifying the decisions I’ve already been making.”
“Which are?” His head tilts quizzically.
I shake my head, not giving him any more information—certainly not any more of me. “I do have one question. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you never rise above her death and love me?”
His eyes glitter. “You just said it, Paige. Herdeath. She died, and I loved her with everything I had.”
“That’s a lie, and we both know it.” I think back to the affection he gave my brothers growing up. “Why?”
He mulls over his response for just a moment before finally admitting, “Because you lived.”
The answer causes my eyes to burn, but no tears fall since I was certain of it already. “What’s horribly sad for you is you never realized you had a piece of her with you.That’swhy I was so adamant about carrying Austyn.”
His head whips to the side as if I’ve slapped him. “Paige…”
“No. I’ll arrange nurses, things you’ll need when you go back to the farm, things like that. I won’t leave that burden to my brothers. But that’s it. I’ll figure out the business financials—” I stretch the truth slightly. After all, selling my business is certainly one way of handling it. “—but this is where it ends. Right here. I’m no longer at your beck and call. I refuse to be punished for her death.”
I walk to the door and put my hand on it. “As a doctor, I suggest you get some professional help”—I hear a scoffing noise behind me, but I plow on—“before Jesse or Ethan have children.”
