The Wife He Forgot Was The One He Loved Most Chapter 12
We walked out of the City Clerk’s Office into the thin, clear light of a winter afternoon.
Ethan held my hand as we headed to the parking lot, his pace half of what it usually was, matching mine.
“You’re walking wrong,” he said.
“How so?”
“Your right leg takes shorter steps than your left.”
I glared at him. “Memory loss and you still notice this?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. He didn’t press.
We got into the car. The heat drifted up gradually. I leaned back into the passenger seat, and something came back to me.
“Ethan.”
“Yeah?”
“The earrings.”
“Which earrings?”
“The emerald pair. The ones you designed by hand. The ones that ended up on Vivienne’s ears.”
His grip on the wheel tightened. He was quiet for a few seconds.
“She took them from my office.”
“You believe that?”
“I pulled the surveillance,” he said. “She came by to ‘see my new office.’ While I was on a call, she took them out of the safe.”
“The combination to your safe is her birthday?”
“It’s your birthday.”
I froze.
“You never changed it?”
“Why would I?” He glanced at me. “I set that safe up before the accident. The code is your birthday. After the accident, I opened it once. Inside were our marriage certificate, our passports, and—”
He fished a deep-blue velvet box out of the armrest console and handed it over.
“—and this.”
I opened the box.
The emerald earrings lay there quietly, glowing softly under the light. A true, deep green, water-clear, like two drops of frozen spring.
“I took them back the day of the wedding,” he said. “Better donated than left with her.”
I brushed my thumb over the smooth curve of the stone, and remembered the sight of him hunched over his desk drafting the design.
Over thirty versions. Every night working until two or three in the morning, the desk lamp stretching his shadow long across the wall.
“You worked on those for over half a year.”
“I know.”
“Every night until two or three.”
“I found the drafts,” he said. “There was writing at the bottom. For her.”
“Just those two words?”
The tips of his ears went red. “There was a little heart next to it.”
I held the box tight. My nose stung, my eyes stung. He reached over, snapped the box shut, and placed it back gently in my palm. “Stop crying. You’ve cried enough for one day.”
“Ethan.”
“Yeah?”
“If you ever give something of mine to someone else again—”
“I won’t.”
“You promise?”
He tapped the brake and eased the car to the side of the road. Turned to face me, gaze steady, almost solemn.
“I promise.”
“From today on, you’re mine. What’s yours is mine. The baby is mine.”
“Anyone touches what’s mine, I’m not letting it go.”
“And Vivienne?”
“Legal served her yesterday,” he said, tone level. “Defamation, theft of company property, unauthorized access to a corporate safe. That should keep her busy for a while.”
I stared at him for three seconds, then laughed out loud. “You really did it?”
“Yes.”
“She’s your ex.”
“Ex?” He frowned. “I remember we dated. Why we broke up—the details are still fuzzy. But when I hear her name now—”
“What?”
“Nothing in my chest.” He looked down at his heart, then up at me. “But when I hear yours, it jumps.”
Looking at him, I stopped being able to cry.
I put the earrings on. The cool of the emeralds settled against my earlobes and swayed a little as I turned my face to show him. “Do they look good?”
He looked for a long time. So long that I thought he hadn’t heard.
“Good. Ten thousand times better than they looked on her.”
“Of course.” I tilted my chin up. “I picked the style.”
He laughed and started the car again.
“Home.”
I touched my belly, touched the emeralds at my ears, and leaned back against the seat, watching the sky through the windshield. The winter sky was very high and very blue. A flock of pigeons was flying between the towers.
Six years ago I’d stood at the base of Sinclair Group with a printed résumé clutched in my sweating hand. Back then I could never have imagined—
That one day I’d be sitting in this man’s passenger seat, wearing earrings that existed nowhere else in the world, carrying his child in my belly, being led hand-in-hand into City Hall to renew our marriage.
The car turned into the tree-lined driveway at Ashwood. The winter maples had shed their last leaves, bare branches reaching thin against the sky, all clean lines. He parked, killed the engine, and turned to look at me.
“Anna.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for staying.”
I looked into those eyes—finally lit again—and reached up to pinch his cheek.
“Thank me for what? I’ve got five million of your money. Would’ve been a waste to run.”
He laughed against my hand, eyes crinkling.
“My salary account is yours from now on.”
“It’s already been mine.”
“…Right.”
We got out of the car and walked toward the house holding hands. The wind picked up the last few curled dry leaves off the ground and spun them in tight little circles. I rested a hand on my belly, and in my head, I whispered: Baby. We’re home.
This time, your father asked Mom to come back.
The lock chirped and the door swung open. Warm yellow light poured out of the living room.
He closed the door behind us. His palm settled over my hand on my belly—warm, sure.
“Saturday next week,” he said. “I’ve booked the OB-GYN specialist.”
“I’m coming with you.”
— The End —