Chapter 22
Abigail
Dinner turned out to be a far more intimate affair than I had anticipated. Instead of the crowded gatherings typical of the Remington family, the table was set for only the four us: Marceline, Alexander, Conrad, and me. No crowd of curious onlookers, no whispered gossip, and most importantly, no Susanna.
It was a small mercy that she wasn’t present. I wasn’t sure her absence was deliberate on Marceline’s part or if Susanna herself had chosen not to attend. Either way, I was grateful.
Marceline and Alexander carried most of the conversation, their polite exchange drifting across the dining table as we ate. Marceline asked Alexander about his recovery, her voice warm with genuine concern. He described the plane crash with a grim clarity that made my stomach twist and the difficult days that followed, when life had tried to strip him of everything.
Marceline’s voice was edged with curiosity as she dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin and asked Alexander, “I can’t imagine what you went through, dear. How did you manage to care for yourself after the crash? With your injuries, it must have been unbearable.”
Alexander, seated in his wheelchair at the head of the table, gave her a small, composed smile. “It wasn’t easy,” he admitted, his voice strong. “Barry and the others… they kept me going when I didn’t think I could.” His gaze darkened for a moment.
“I heard Barry was the first to…” Marceline trailed off, her voice softening as her words failed.
Alexander nodded gravely. “Yes. He saved me more times than I can count. His loyalty cost him his life. That kind of debt can never be repaid.”
Marceline’s expression tightened with sympathy. “He was a good man. I’ll ensure the family provides for his loved ones. It’s the least we can do.”
Alexander’s lips twitched into a faint smile, “I knew you’d say that. Thank you, but I’ve already taken care of it.”
“And the wheelchair? How are you adjusting?” she asked lightly, nodding toward the contraption.
“I’m managing,” Alexander replied. He patted one wheel with a wry smirk. “I’m just grateful to still be alive.” Despite the heavy topic, there was a certain grace to the way they spoke that I found myself admiring. Alexander was strong, stronger than I had realized.
Meanwhile, Conrad’s focus was solely on me. He served me dishes one after another, each plate bearing something I recognized as my favorite foods. Grilled salmon with dill sauce. Roasted vegetables seasoned just right. Even a tiny serving of crème brûlée appeared in front of me before I could think to refuse.
“Conrad, this is too much,” I said softly, but he just smiled, his gaze steady on mine.
“Not at all,” he replied, his tone light but firm. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”
Marceline smiled knowingly from across the table. “Conrad spent the entire afternoon in the kitchen,” she said, her voice tinged with pride. “He insisted on preparing everything himself, you know. He even consulted the chef to ensure everything was to your taste.”
I glanced at him, startled but he avoided my gaze, a faint flush creeping along his neck. He didn’t look like someone who had spent hours over a stove–his suit was immaculate, his sleeves rolled up just enough to hint at effort without betraying a single crease. He only shrugged, as if his mother’s words weren’t a shock to me.
I tried to swallow past the lump forming in my throat. How many times had I wanted this version of hirn–the
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Chapter 22
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attentive, caring husband? Late slowly, my heart caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.
After dinner, 1 excused myself for some alt, heading to the door garden fused to walk through every evening The air was cool and heavy with the scent of freshly cut gras, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine what it might feel like to belong here again, to trust Conrail gain.
I was standing near the garden terrace when he found me. His footsteps were almost hesitant as he approached with a bouquet of roses in hand.
“These are for you,” he said, holding them out like an offering. His eyes met mine, and for the first time in weeks, there was no defensiveness, no auger–just vulnerability.
I hesitated before taking them, their fragrance rising to meet me. The familiar scent of blooming roses stirred something bittersweet in me. “Thank you,” I murmured.
Conrad stepped closer, his expression softening. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
I nodded slowly, the memory unspooling in my mind. “You spilled a cocktail on me at that little party while we were talking,” I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “And then you insisted on buying me a new dress to make up for it. I’d been so confused. Any other person would pay for dry cleaning, not replace the dress entirely.”
His laugh was quiet. “I was such a mess back then. But you didn’t seem to care. You smiled at me like I hadn’t just ruined your night.”
“You made it hard to stay angry,” I admitted, meeting his gaze.
For a moment, it felt like we were back there, in that party, before life had grown so complicated. Before Susanna.
But the weight of reality pressed down on me, pulling me back from the past. Gathering my courage, I met his eyes. “Conrad… are these roses truly meant for me? Or are they just leftovers someone else didn’t want?”
His expression shifted, a flash of pain crossing his face. “Abigail, no,” he said quickly. “They’re only for you. Always for you.”
I held his gaze. I wanted to believe him, but the words felt too easy. “Then why does it feel like I’ve been competing for your attention? Competing against someone who doesn’t belong in our marriage?” The bitterness I’d tried to suppress still seeped into my tone. “Why all this now? The roses, the meals, the gestures. What changed?
He hesitated, then stepped closer. “Because I realized how much I’ve hurt you. I was blind to how my actions made you feel. I let… other priorities come between us.” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Abigail, it’s not what you think. There’s nothing between Susanna and me. There never was,” he said, his voice earnest. Years ago, Susanna saved my life. I would have died if it weren’t for her. I’ve always felt indebted to her. That’s all it’s ever been. I owed her that much.”
I wanted to hold on to my anger and remind myself of every reason I had to leave him, but his explanation unraveled some of the knots in my chest. If someone had saved my life, wouldn’t I feel the same? Wouldn’t I want to repay that debt and ensure their well–being?
Could that be all this was–misplaced gratitude?
I glanced away, my fingers tightening around the stems of the roses. “And the master bedroom?” I asked quietly. Moving her in there while I was still your wife? What kind of gratitude is that?”
Conrad’s shoulders sagged, heavy with his regret. “I made mistakes, Abigall. Stupid, careless mistakes. I never meant for it to come between us. But I see now how it must have looked to you.” He took my hand in his “But I’m asking for another chance. Not just for me for us. For our family.”
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Chapter 22
The word “family” made my heart ache. Our baby Teeltet mot forget what was at stalo, what I wan fighting for
For the first time in a long while, I felt the krit of dent inmy chest begin to loosen. Maybe I had misunderstood his actions. His loyalty to Susanna was born of gratitude, Te anything deeper.
Just as I was about to speak, another voice cut through the night, interrupting
“Conrad,” Alexander said, wheeling himself toward us from the shadows of the terrace. His presence was commanding despite the chair. His eyes fixed on my husband. “Thank you for taking such good care of Susanna these past few months. But I’m here to take her home now
