Chapter 7
Because of the abortion, I had to stick around the hospital for a bit.
Quentin started showing up like clockwork, always with some homemade pumpkin or chicken soup in hand.
I didn’t say a word. Just ignored him.
He’d stand outside the room, quiet and drained, not moving for what felt like forever.
When it was time for me to leave, it was drizzling.
Figured he’d try to catch me, so I packed up before sunrise.
But right as I stepped out, there he was–leaning against the gate.
No clue how long he’d been standing there. He looked rough. Wind–tossed hair, rain–soaked coat.
The second he saw me, he straightened up, eyes all nervous. “I’m here to take you home.”
I backed up without thinking.
His eyes went glassy. He looked down, couldn’t even face me.
After a long pause, I said, flat as ever, “Don’t. We’re done. I’ve got legs–I’ll get home on my own.
Then I walked past him and planned to grab a cab.
Quentin suddenly rushed over, dropped to his knees, and grabbed the edge of my coat, barely holding back tears.
“Please—just one more chance. I know I screwed up. I lost our baby, I can’t lose you too. Don’t leave me. I seriously can’t do this without you.”
His face was soaked, voice cracking with every word.
But I felt nothing.
Since the day I ended the pregnancy, whatever was left of my heart? Gone. Ice–cold.
I stared him down. “You’re begging the wrong person. Go plead with your kid in hell. Quentin Palmer, I wish I’d never loved you.”
He wasn’t always like this.
Seven years ago, he was my safe place. Always full of surprises.
Yeah, he was rich, but he still worked part–time with me like it meant something.
Back when we hustled at those late–night pop–ups, he’d roll up his sleeves and square up to anyone causing drama–no hesitation.
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Chapter 7
