Chapter 26
Patrick’s breathing on the other end of the line was getting faster, his words thick with pain.
But Maisy acted like she didn’t hear a thing.
“You always wanted reasons for everything. Even when I spelled it out for you, you couldn’t see it. The truth? You just didn’t care.” Her voice was steady, almost tired. “That’s why you never cared about my feelings. That’s how you could cheat without a second thought. That’s why you let Melinda walk all over me, why I kept getting hurt when none of it had to happen.”
She took a breath. “So now you know why we got divorced, right?”
“Patrick, we’re over. We shouldn’t be in contact anymore.”
Maisy was ready to hang up, but Patrick’s voice broke through, desperate.
“No–Maisy, please, don’t do this. Can we meet? Just once, please?”
Maisy paused, remembering how rarely Patrick ever sounded this broken. The only times he had were when he was trying to convince her not to leave.
“No. Unless we’re dead, let’s never see each other again.”
The call ended with a harsh series of beeps.
Staring at his phone’s black screen, Patrick felt pain blooming in his chest, sharp and suffocating, like invisible vines winding tighter and tighter. He tried to move, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. The room spun, then everything went dark as he collapsed.
“Leonard!”
“Sir!”
“Somebody, help!”
–
After that call, Patrick fell seriously ill. He dropped weight, growing thinner and weaker by the day. No amount of medicine or supplements could help.
People whispered that he must have some terminal illness, but only Patrick knew it was his heart that was sick.
Before Maisy’s words, he’d still believed they might have a chance. But now? There was nothing left.
He stared at an old photo of himself and Maisy smiling together, and tears finally spilled over.
“Maisy, I’m sorry…”
Time blurred. Eventually, a knock came at the door. The butler stepped inside, watching him with gentle concern.
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00:21
Chapter 26
“Sir, the car is ready. We can leave whenever you wish.”
Patrick gave a weak nod, letting the butler help him up and out the door. Maisy had told him to let the past go, but guilt ate away at him. He needed to do something–to make things right,
somehow.
The first step was to kneel at Deanna’s grave and say he was sorry. If not for his selfishness, even death wouldn’t have disturbed her peace.
On the drive to the cemetery, Patrick leaned back, eyes closed, quietly rehearsing what he’d say. But suddenly, a blinding white light cut through the window.
A sickening crash. Screeching brakes. The world spun as the car was slammed from the side. Patrick’s body was thrown forward, his head hitting the seat and roof. Glass shattered, slicing into his skin. Blood ran down his arm.
The Mercedes skidded, then crashed hard onto the road. Blood pooled beneath Patrick. Death was closing in.
For a moment, there was no pain–just a hollow sense of regret.
He never got to say goodbye to Maisy.
His life flashed before him: Maisy at twenty–two, in a red dress, telling him she loved him; Maisy at twenty–three, in a white wedding dress, promising him forever; Maisy at twenty–five, in black, signing their divorce papers.
And then, just when everything seemed over, fate gave Patrick one last chance.
He opened his eyes and found himself on the day he first met Melinda.
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