Fire dances in her eyes. “I would never betray any female in that way. And I avoid conversing with those men whenever I can help it.” She presses her key fob, lifting her shoulder. “Come on. There’s a coffee place off the beaten track a few minutes away. Let’s talk there.”
I thought I’d have to blackmail her into talking to me, but I can see that won’t be necessary. Perhaps it’s because she’s sober, or maybe she’s lonely, or she’s waited for me to approach her about my mother, but whatever the reason, I’m grateful she seems willing to open up.
“I’ve overheard my husband and son discussing elite business,” she says when we’re in the car and en route to the coffee shop. “And I’m surprised Drew is here supporting you.” She glances at me briefly. “Pleasantly surprised,” she adds. “But surprised none the less.”
“He has my back, and he wants to protect me.” For the first time, I say it with conviction.
She squeezes my knee, smiling. “I’m glad you two are still close, and I’m glad he hasn’t forgotten who he is. That he’s looking out for you.”
“We both want to know about our mother. We know she was planning to escape with Atticus Anderson and that our father killed her for it.”
Tense silence engulfs us, and she grips the steering wheel tighter. “I heard about what went down in the ballroom,” she says after a few seconds have passed, rounding the next bend. She looks me square in the eye. “I’ve been expecting you.”
We don’t speak again until we’re at a small table tucked into the back of the unassuming coffee place. “Drew can join us if he likes,” she offers after we’ve placed our order.
“Thank you, but I think it’s best he keeps watch from outside. Just in case.”
“Okay.” She clasps her hands on top of the table, pinning her piercing blue eyes on me. It’s hard to look at her face and not see the resemblance to Trent. “What do you want to know?”
“What happened to the child my mother was expecting? Because it was that pregnancy that sealed her fate and forced her into marriage to my father, right?”
“How much do you want to know, Abby? Because some of this won’t be pleasant to hear.”
The waitress sets our pie and coffee down, and I wait until she’s gone before replying. “I want to know it all, Sylvia. Hold nothing back. I know how the elite work, and I doubt there’s much you can say that’ll shock me.”
“That truly hurts to hear,” she admits, placing her hand over mine. “Your mother fought so hard to protect you both so you wouldn’t have to endure the things she’d endured, we’d endured.” A shuddering breath leaves her lips as she stares off into space.
“What happened to the baby?” I ask, holding my breath in anticipation.
She shoots me a sympathetic look, squeezing my hand. “The baby was stillborn.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“I’d wondered if that was the case or if we had another sibling out there somewhere,” I admit, feeling a pang of sorrow in my heart.
“Your father discovered the child was Atticus’s, and he beat Olivia so badly she lost the baby.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I swallow hard over the tormented lump in my throat.
He stole her baby from her too.
She squeezes my hand. “Your mother knew the baby had died because he’d stopped moving inside her, but your father refused to bring her to the hospital.”
“It was a boy?” I whisper.
She nods. “She was only four weeks away from her due date, and that bastard locked her in her bedroom until she went into labor.”
My hand shakes as I bring the mug to my lips, sipping the hot liquid, barely feeling it scald my raw throat as I contemplate the horror of living through that.
Knowing your husband killed your child and being forced to live with that until it was the time for the delivery must have been sheer hell.
And imagine going through that pain knowing there was no joyful bundle at the end.
A sob escapes my mouth, and I set my mug down, spilling coffee on the table.
Sylvia gets up, rounding the table and putting her arm around me. “I’m so sorry, Abby.”
“He killed my babies too,” I blurt, swiping at the hot tears coursing down my face.
“What?” Her shocked tone matches the mounting shock on her face as I explain.
“Oh my God, Abby. I’m so sorry he did that to you!” She lets me go, pulling her chair over beside mine and sitting down. Her arms encircle me again, and I accept her comfort willingly. “I should’ve done more for you.” Genuine remorse flickers in her eyes. “Your mother would be so disappointed in me.”
“We weren’t your responsibility, and I know what those bastards are like. Father wouldn’t have let you intervene.”
“I tried, at the start, after your mother died. You probably don’t remember, but you and Drew used to sleep over at our house every weekend.” Her lips pull into a tight line. “It wasn’t much, but I tried to do fun stuff with all of you, so you had some time to just be normal children, but your father eventually put a stop to it.”
She grips the edge of the table. “I went to your house, to plead with him to reconsider and… Well, it didn’t go as I’d planned.” Her face is as white as the tablecloth.
“What did he do to you?”
She shakes her head, and her lip wobbles. “I can’t talk about it. I’m sorry.” Gulping down the dregs of her coffee, she pulls a flask from her purse and pours whiskey into her mug, uncaring who sees. She knocks it back, her hand trembling. “You must think so little of me,” she says, shrugging in embarrassment.
“I know you’ve seen me at my worst,” she continues, “but I tried fighting back, and eventually, Christian won. He broke me. Beat me down. Removed my fighting spirit. I watched my two best friends die after they attempted to escape, and I knew I was trapped. Christian took great delight in telling me how both my friends had been murdered, and he told me that would be my fate if I tried to do the same. So, I did the only thing I could.”
She eyeballs me with her glassy gaze. “I checked out of life. I numb the pain and the reality, and it’s only these weekly sessions when I let it back in, when I remember what my life has been like, when I accept the pain for the punishment of standing by and letting my husband turn my son into a monster just like him.”
“You couldn’t have done anything to stop it. I’m only beginning to realize how damaged they all are because of the stuff they’ve had to do at Parkhurst.”
“I don’t even know the half of it, and I’m disturbed,” she says before seeming to collect herself. “I’ve missed seeing you at the house, but I’m not sorry your engagement to my son has ended. You deserve better.”
“We didn’t love one another, and I don’t see how any marriage can work without love.”
“You’re right,” she murmurs. “Love is the bedrock of any marriage. Without it, it’s a daily struggle.” She looks off into space. “I haven’t believed in love in a long time.”