Page 156 of Scandalous Contract
The nurse nodded in understanding. "I understand. Your husband... I'll make sure the autopsy only shows that he died from injuries from the crash."
My eyes widened. "You can do that?"
She nodded again. "As for this woman, you can't kill her. But I can, and I can make it look like a medical emergency."
I stared at her, disbelief and hope warring within me. "Why are you willing to help me?"
"Because sometimes women have to help each other," she said. "There was no one to help me when I went through a similar situation. Not even my family consoled me when I was forced to accept a child that wasn't my own. No one cared about my pain. No one cared that I was hurting and that I felt betrayed. The birth mother was able to leave the country with money my father-in-law paid her, while I was stuck in a loveless marriage and forced to be a mother to that woman's child. I mean, I love my husband now. But when it happened, I hated him. But I was treated as if I were ungrateful every time I showed that hatred, every time I voiced a complaint. I was chastised, and he wasn't. I was told that I wasn’t behaving like a proper wife when I brought the topic up. Everything I did was wrong. And the people who hurt me weren’t punished at all. Even now, I live in fear of that woman returning to take her child from me. I don't wish that fear on anyone. And I'm going to make sure you don't have to live with that fear."
“But...”
“No, buts. Raise that child with all the love you have in you. Heal for yourself and for her. She is better off with you than she ever would’ve been with them.”
“Is that how you feel about your child?”
She nodded. “I have a baby daughter and an older son. They are my life. And though I only gave birth to one of them, they’re both imprinted on my soul for life. I can’t live without them. But I had to heal before I could be the mother that child needed me to be. You have to heal, too. But you can do it. Women have had to be strong throughout our entire existence. And I may be white, but I understand that black women have had it far worse than I could ever imagine. Strength flows through your veins. And it’s not fair that you always have to be strong for everyone. But this time, you’re not doing it for everyone. You’re doing it for you and the child you already love. You be strong for you and her. And I’ll make sure you never have to worry about this woman here again. Deal?”
I swallowed. “But...”
“This won’t be the first time I’ve had to get my hands dirty to protect someone. And I’m sure it won’t be the last. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. Now go, so the nurses at the front desk can see you leaving the room hours before the woman dies. I'll take care of the rest."
I knew this was wrong. I knew that I was being too trusting of someone I didn’t know. I knew that even if she did the actual deed, Lanissa’s blood was still on my hands. Even so, I nodded, gratitude and guilt swirling within me.
The nurse hugged me, and I left the room, my steps heavy. I went home and showered again, wishing I could wash the memories of that entire night away. In the middle of the night, I received the call: Lanissa had died of cardiac arrest.
Instead of sorrow, I felt relief. Instead of guilt, I felt glad. The two people who'd hurt me could never hurt me again. They could never betray me again. And the child they’d conceived would not have to live with such horrible parents.
But the nurse was right, I had to heal if I wanted to raise her right. So I called my parents, and they came to me. They stayed with me from the moment I brought India home. They were against it at first, saying that they would help me fight to end the adoption agreement.
However, I no longer wanted to do that. Because the moment I held that little girl in my arms, the moment she opened her eyes and stared up at me, I knew that I was meant to be her mother.
And when her little fingers wrapped around mine, it was like she was accepting me as her mom. And not once have I regretted my decision to be her mother. I thought I would look at her and see her father.
But to my amazement, I see myself in her. She’s so much like me. From the way she walks to the way she talks. Even the way she cocks her head to the side when she’s thinking. Her wild curly hair is just as untamable as mine.
And she’s stubborn like me, also. She’s driven and ambitious, just like me. And she loves hard like me, too. She’s mine. And I’m hers. And nothing in this world would ever change that.
I swallowed, using the Kleenex to wipe tears from my eyes as Julian rubbed my back. I wasn’t ready to meet his gaze. I wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say yet. Thankfully, he remained silent until I spoke again.
“Am I a horrible person?” I asked, voice faint, barely above a whisper.
“No,” he whispered. “You’re a survivor of domestic violence, of emotional abuse, and of manipulation. The people who hurt you are horrible. Not you.”
I raised my head and met his gaze. “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“No. I’m saying it because it’s true. Those people got what they deserved. Just say the word, and I’ll make sure that bastard’s family gets what they deserve tonight.”
I smiled. “Be careful, I may take you up on that.”
“Just say the word, love.”
I chuckled. “Thank you, Julian.”
“For what?”
“For listening. For not judging. And for being willing to fight for me. I truly appreciate you, Julian Cattaneo.”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
