CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
S TEFANIE
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J ULIAN DIDN’T RUSH me. He let me tell him the tale of my past at my own pace. And I appreciated that. I began with the whirlwind that was my romance with Archie. How his family had embraced me, making me feel like I belonged, if only for a fleeting moment.
That illusion shattered quickly. Archie changed, becoming controlling, manipulative, and abusive. I had planned to leave him, to reclaim my life, until he begged me to stay, begged me to adopt a child with him.
I told him all about Lanissa, the woman we’d planned to adopt from, and how Archie said she was the best option because she was black and her ex-boyfriend was white. He called her a Godsend.
And like an idiot, I began to take that as a sign that maybe this was supposed to happen for us. I told him of how I supported that woman for months, caring for her, hoping I was helping in some way to ease her burden and show her that her baby would be in good hands.
But in the end, she was just laughing in my face, using me just like Archie. And everyone knew it, Archie, her, his family. They were all laughing in my face. I had to look so fucking stupid to them.
I’m sure they all got together and laughed at the young girl playing house with a man who didn’t love her and trying to be the perfect wife. As I talked, Julian remained silent, listening without interrupting.
But I noticed how he clenched his fist every now and then. It wasn’t long before I got lost in the story and was transported to the nightmare that was my life back then. I told him about the night that changed everything.
About the large sum that had been transferred from my account. And how I called Archie, and he didn’t answer. When I got home, I found his note. I’d seen his clothes and things missing.
There had been water tracked through the house from outside, where it was raining. That was how I knew he hadn’t been gone long. I called him multiple times, and finally he answered. He told me he was leaving me, and in the background, I heard a train, the same train I was hearing from my house.
I knew exactly where he was. And I’d gotten into my car, not knowing what I would do when I found him, just knowing I needed to find him. There was no way I was letting him keep the money my father had worked hard for.
I could remember that night like it was last night. The rain pounded against the windshield as I drove through the storm, each drop echoing the turmoil within me. My hands trembled as I gripped the steering wheel, the wipers struggling to keep up with the downpour. Archie's words still rang in my ears, a cruel symphony of betrayal.
"I can't stay with you anymore," he'd said coldly over the phone. "You can't even give me the one thing I want, a child. You’re even boring in bed. I thought all black women were supposed to be tigresses in bed. What happened to you?"
The racist fuck! While I believed love didn’t see color, to him I’d only been a fetish fuck. He’d only married me because he was obsessed with black women. Not because he thought we were beautiful.
Not because he thought we deserved to be cherished, not even because he thought love was color blind. But because he liked being dominant over us. That realization had made me sick to my stomach and even angrier with myself for what I’d let that man put me through.
That was the second murderous thoughts toward that man began to sprout in my heart. I mean, it had crossed my mind a few times. But that realization kind of solidified it for me. I wanted him dead. A train whistle blared in the distance.
Thanks to the slow train, I was able to catch up with him before he hit the highway and was lost to me forever with the money that didn’t belong to him. I spotted his car ahead. The train had passed, and he was now going over the tracks. Speeding up, I called him again, my voice shaking.
"Transfer the money back, Archie. I don't care if you leave, but you can't take what my father left me."
He laughed bitterly. "Is that you following me?”
“I want my money you motherfucker.”
“Stop following me before I kill you."
Determined, I pulled alongside him, trying to force him to stop. He sped up, all the while cursing me out on the phone. I drove faster, getting in front of him, hoping to make him stop the car. Suddenly, he swerved, losing control.
The car veered off the road, flipping once before crashing into the trees. I slammed on the brakes, heart pounding. For a moment, I sat there, paralyzed. Then, I stepped out into the rain, approaching the wreckage.
Archie was trapped inside, bloodied and barely conscious. Glass shards protruded from his face and chest. Our eyes met, and he sneered. Even hurt as badly as he was, the bastard still stared at me with hatred in his eyes. Instead of asking for help, he lashed out at me.
"I hate you," he spat. "I deserve that money for wasting my time on you."
Something inside me snapped. All the times he’d hurt me flashed through my head. All the times I’d cried silently in the bathroom, afraid to leave the room, appeared in my mind. All the lonely nights, all the heartache.
It all came rushing back to me as I stared at the man who’d been my nightmare for far too long. And a part of me wanted to end it all right then and there. Tears mingled with the rain as I reached in, placing my hand over his mouth and nose.
He struggled, but I held firm, pressing down on his face until he ceased struggling and went still. As soon as he did, I removed my hands from his mouth, unable to believe I’d actually killed my husband.
But there was no guilt. Not real guilt. In fact, there was a small sense of satisfaction that scared me. I staggered back, then noticed a figure lying a few feet away, a woman, thrown from the car. I couldn't see her face, only that she was a Black woman.
At the time, I hadn’t known who she was. I didn’t know she was Lanissa, the woman we were adopting a baby from. Seeing her there scared me. I’d only wanted to kill Archie. But now, two deaths had been caused by me.
Panic surged through me, and I fled the scene. At home, I scrubbed the mud from my shoes and washed away the evidence. Just as I stepped out of the shower, the phone rang. The hospital.
They informed me that Archie had died in a car accident and that a woman named Lanissa Wright was also involved in the accident. Lanissa, the woman we were adopting the baby from. That information had almost ripped me apart.
Apparently, Lanissa was having an emergency C-section, and they wanted me to come to the hospital. At the hospital, whispers followed me. Nurses exchanged glances, their eyes filled with judgment and pity because word had already gotten around about my situation.
This hospital was where Lanissa received her prenatal care. It was where she planned to deliver. I’d taken her to appointments. The nurses knew about the adoption. I was listed as Lanissa's emergency contact.
And they expected me to take the baby home since that had been the arrangement all along. I wanted no part of it. Everyone was treating me like I was the mother of the child she was delivering, talking with me about the baby’s condition and asking if I wanted to hold the baby. They asked me about payment arrangements for the baby’s delivery.
All of which I no longer wanted a part of. Then Archie's family arrived, blaming me for his death because I’d been a useless wife who’d forced him to run off during a storm with another woman. While I’d been hurting, they’d insisted the child was my responsibility.
When I refused to go through with the adoption, they threatened me, claiming they’d make sure the world knew that I was stepping away from the child I’d adopted. Even the adoption agency refused to help me, saying that I’d have to take it to court.
Lanissa survived the surgery, and when I went to the room to talk to her, she revealed the truth, not even feeling ashamed or regretful. She told me Archie had loved her, not me. She accused me of causing the accident, vowed to tell the police that she’d seen my car behind them.
She said she wanted me to pay for what I’d done and that she would find a new home for the child, because she couldn’t raise it without Archie. But she was going to make sure I didn’t get the baby or anything from Archie.
Overwhelmed, I found myself in her hospital room, contemplating silencing her forever. I’d already killed Archie. I knew I was capable of murder. And she deserved it for what she’d done. There was no way I was going to let her ruin my life after everything she and Archie had put me through.
I decided that I had to silence her forever. Before I could, her machines started beeping, and I was forced out of the room as she slipped into unconsciousness. Apparently, she was bleeding out.
It was hours before I was allowed to go back into her room. They’d stopped the bleeding, but Lanissa was still unconscious. But I knew she’d wake up. And when she did, she’d reveal what I’d done.
I stood at the foot of Lanissa's hospital bed, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors the only sound in the room. Her face was pale, her lips slightly parted as her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.
Everything began to weigh me down. Not only did I have to deal with her and the baby, I had to deal with the funeral home since Archie’s family expected me to handle his funeral arrangements. Everything was on my young shoulders, and there was no one to help me.
I clenched my fists as my hatred for her grew with each moment that passed. Their betrayal, lies, and manipulation had led to this moment. This was on them, not me. They should’ve known that even a cornered rabbit would bite if it had nowhere to run.
And she had me trapped in a corner with no way out. I had to fight to get my life back. I took a step closer, my hand trembling as I reached out, towering over her. The thought of silencing her, of ending this nightmare, flickered in my mind. But before I could act, the door to the room opened.
"Don't do it," a nurse said from the doorway.
Lowering my hand, I faced her. She was tall, slim, and older than I was. All I could think was that she was going to report me. I was going to prison.
"If you smother her, the doctors and other nurses will know. The cause of death will be evident, and you'll spend the rest of your life in prison," she warned.
I swallowed hard, the reality of her words sinking in. But the rage inside me was still burning. Would they find out that I’d killed Archie also when they did the autopsy? If so, then I was already going to prison. I may as well go for killing them both.
"I don't care," I whispered. "They'll find out I smothered my husband while he was dying in that car wreck. I could've let him bleed out, but I wanted to watch him die. I wanted to kill him myself," I admitted, no longer caring about the consequences.
The nurse stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. She approached me slowly, her gaze unwavering.
“First of all, never admit that again, young lady,” she told me.
“But...”
"I heard what happened," she said. "Everyone in the hospital is talking about it. Members of the baby's family have been very vocal about their thoughts on you, your deceased spouse, and this young woman here. They are spreading your business to whoever is willing to listen."
I looked away, shame creeping in.
"They lied to you to get you to agree to the adoption, didn't they?" she asked gently.
I nodded. "I can't have kids, and he wanted them. He told me his friend knew someone who was putting her baby up for adoption. She was a Black woman, like me, and her ex-boyfriend was white. He said it was a Godsend, and I believed him."
"Do you want the baby?"
I hesitated, staring at Lanissa. "Because of what's happened, I don't want to raise this child. But in my heart, I already love her like she’s mine. I've been waiting for this baby. I already have a name picked out, and her room is ready. In my heart, she’s already mine. But this is wrong. What they did to me was wrong! I’m the victim, so why am I the only one hurting? Why am I planning a funeral for the man who hurt me? Why am I expected to be here for the woman who lied to me? Why am I the only one suffering?"
Tears welled up in my eyes, and the nurse released a heavy sigh.
“Fuck them,” she told me. “If you love this child in your heart, and if you know you can raise her with love and care, then raise her as your own," she said. "Trust me, I know what it's like to have to raise a child that's not yours. The child will be a constant reminder of what the person you loved did to you. But the child didn't do it. And once you get past that, you’ll realize that you could be the blessing that child needs to grow up and live a happy life."
I wiped my eyes, her words settling over me. "But I already have to deal with his family. I don't want this woman in and out of me and that child's life forever. I’ve suffered enough. I don’t want to suffer more because of these people."
The nurse nodded in understanding. "I understand. Your husband... I'll make sure the autopsy only shows that he died from injuries from the crash."
My eyes widened. "You can do that?"
She nodded again. "As for this woman, you can't kill her. But I can, and I can make it look like a medical emergency."
I stared at her, disbelief and hope warring within me. "Why are you willing to help me?"
"Because sometimes women have to help each other," she said. "There was no one to help me when I went through a similar situation. Not even my family consoled me when I was forced to accept a child that wasn't my own. No one cared about my pain. No one cared that I was hurting and that I felt betrayed. The birth mother was able to leave the country with money my father-in-law paid her, while I was stuck in a loveless marriage and forced to be a mother to that woman's child. I mean, I love my husband now. But when it happened, I hated him. But I was treated as if I were ungrateful every time I showed that hatred, every time I voiced a complaint. I was chastised, and he wasn't. I was told that I wasn’t behaving like a proper wife when I brought the topic up. Everything I did was wrong. And the people who hurt me weren’t punished at all. Even now, I live in fear of that woman returning to take her child from me. I don't wish that fear on anyone. And I'm going to make sure you don't have to live with that fear."
“But...”
“No, buts. Raise that child with all the love you have in you. Heal for yourself and for her. She is better off with you than she ever would’ve been with them.”
“Is that how you feel about your child?”
She nodded. “I have a baby daughter and an older son. They are my life. And though I only gave birth to one of them, they’re both imprinted on my soul for life. I can’t live without them. But I had to heal before I could be the mother that child needed me to be. You have to heal, too. But you can do it. Women have had to be strong throughout our entire existence. And I may be white, but I understand that black women have had it far worse than I could ever imagine. Strength flows through your veins. And it’s not fair that you always have to be strong for everyone. But this time, you’re not doing it for everyone. You’re doing it for you and the child you already love. You be strong for you and her. And I’ll make sure you never have to worry about this woman here again. Deal?”
I swallowed. “But...”
“This won’t be the first time I’ve had to get my hands dirty to protect someone. And I’m sure it won’t be the last. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. Now go, so the nurses at the front desk can see you leaving the room hours before the woman dies. I'll take care of the rest."
I knew this was wrong. I knew that I was being too trusting of someone I didn’t know. I knew that even if she did the actual deed, Lanissa’s blood was still on my hands. Even so, I nodded, gratitude and guilt swirling within me.
The nurse hugged me, and I left the room, my steps heavy. I went home and showered again, wishing I could wash the memories of that entire night away. In the middle of the night, I received the call: Lanissa had died of cardiac arrest.
Instead of sorrow, I felt relief. Instead of guilt, I felt glad. The two people who'd hurt me could never hurt me again. They could never betray me again. And the child they’d conceived would not have to live with such horrible parents.
But the nurse was right, I had to heal if I wanted to raise her right. So I called my parents, and they came to me. They stayed with me from the moment I brought India home. They were against it at first, saying that they would help me fight to end the adoption agreement.
However, I no longer wanted to do that. Because the moment I held that little girl in my arms, the moment she opened her eyes and stared up at me, I knew that I was meant to be her mother.
And when her little fingers wrapped around mine, it was like she was accepting me as her mom. And not once have I regretted my decision to be her mother. I thought I would look at her and see her father.
But to my amazement, I see myself in her. She’s so much like me. From the way she walks to the way she talks. Even the way she cocks her head to the side when she’s thinking. Her wild curly hair is just as untamable as mine.
And she’s stubborn like me, also. She’s driven and ambitious, just like me. And she loves hard like me, too. She’s mine. And I’m hers. And nothing in this world would ever change that.
I swallowed, using the Kleenex to wipe tears from my eyes as Julian rubbed my back. I wasn’t ready to meet his gaze. I wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say yet. Thankfully, he remained silent until I spoke again.
“Am I a horrible person?” I asked, voice faint, barely above a whisper.
“No,” he whispered. “You’re a survivor of domestic violence, of emotional abuse, and of manipulation. The people who hurt you are horrible. Not you.”
I raised my head and met his gaze. “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“No. I’m saying it because it’s true. Those people got what they deserved. Just say the word, and I’ll make sure that bastard’s family gets what they deserve tonight.”
I smiled. “Be careful, I may take you up on that.”
“Just say the word, love.”
I chuckled. “Thank you, Julian.”
“For what?”
“For listening. For not judging. And for being willing to fight for me. I truly appreciate you, Julian Cattaneo.”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
“Woman, you’re my heart. I’ll do anything to protect you and keep you happy. I’ve got a question, though.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“The nurse who helped you,” he started.
Oh, no! Had he figured it out? He couldn’t have. I never said her name.
“I’m glad she was there for you,” he told me, smiling. “She’s a special woman. She’s a natural protector. I’m glad she could be there for you when you needed her.”
I swallowed. He knew. He wasn’t saying it, but he knew.
“Yes, she is,” I agreed. “She’s a great mother, also. Her words helped me out a lot.”
His smile widened as he blinked back tears. He kissed my forehead again.
“I’m going to take the rest of the day off from work,” he told me. “How about I order us some food and let’s spend the rest of the day in bed watching movies. How does that sound?”
“That sounds wonderful,” I told him.
And as we lay in bed, watching movies, I realized that I was no longer afraid of my love for Julian. I was ready to embrace that love. I was ready to embrace a life with the man who made me feel safe, secure, beautiful, and cherished.
There were just two more things I needed to do. I needed to talk to India and explain to her the situation with me and Julian. And then I needed to talk to the nurse who helped me years ago, his mother.
I needed to make sure she was okay with me being in Julian’s life. It was only right that I talk to her before making the decision to be with him. And if she and India gave us their blessing, I would spend the rest of my life showing Julian just how happy I was that he entered my world and showed me what true love was.
I planned to cherish this man just as much as he cherished me.