Chapter 8 #3
Abby sat at the small wooden table where she and Sadie had eaten countless late breakfasts. Her body had begun to ache now that she was warm enough to feel it.
The phone vibrated against the table. Hudson’s name appeared again, followed by a photograph of his split lip and the message, This is the man you chose to leave with did. He’s an animal.
Abby turned the phone facedown. “I didn’t choose Evan.”
Sadie stopped at the kitchen doorway. “What?”
“Hudson thinks I left with Evan because I chose him.” Abby rubbed both hands over her face. “He thinks tonight is about Evan stealing me, or me punishing him, or anything except what he did.”
Sadie returned to the table and sat across from her. “Hudson has always believed his shit doesn’t stink.”
“You never liked him.” Abby lowered her hands. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”
“I did tell you.” Sadie’s answer held no triumph, only regret. “You said he was stressed, or that I misunderstood his humor, or that he apologized when we weren’t around.”
Abby remembered each defense. She had believed loyalty required translating Hudson’s cruelty into something more generous.
“I thought you judged him because of his family,” she said. “He told me people were always waiting for him to prove he was an entitled Covington.”
“He made you defend him before anyone accused him.” Sadie reached across the table and covered Abby’s hand. “You were a one woman PR manager. That man kept you too busy explaining him to everyone to decide whether the criticism was true.”
The observation hurt because it fit too many memories. Abby looked toward the dark window above the sink, where her reflection appeared faint and unfamiliar.
“I saw them,” she said. “They were both wearing hotel robes. Makayla was half naked and crying and saying it wasn’t what it looked like, and Hudson was angry with me for showing up.”
Sadie’s fingers tightened around hers. “You don’t have to tell me tonight.”
“If I stop, I’ll start finding explanations for them.” Abby drew an uneven breath. “I spent the whole drive to the hotel inventing reasons the messages weren’t real. I kept doing it until he opened the door.”
She told Sadie about the iPad, the fake trips, the photograph, and the eighteen months of messages. She described Hudson reaching for her and Evan striking him, although she found herself protecting Evan from blame even as he had accepted it himself.
Sadie listened without interrupting. Her face changed when Abby explained that the affair had already begun by the time Hudson proposed.
“Makayla helped him choose your ring,” Sadie said. “She sent me pictures, asking my opinion.”
Abby looked at the closed hand Sadie had rested on the table. The outline of the ring pressed against her sister’s palm.
“Put it down,” she said as she watched Sadie’s closed hand. “I need to see it.”
Sadie opened her fingers and set the ring between them. Under the kitchen light, it looked exactly as it had the day Hudson proposed—elegant, expensive, and chosen to flatter Abby’s hand.
Her phone vibrated again. This time Hudson left a voicemail.
Abby pressed play before Sadie could stop her. Hudson’s voice filled the kitchen, controlled and faintly weary.
“Abby, this has gone far enough. I understand that you’re hurt, but leaving with Evan and refusing to answer me is making the situation worse.
Makayla is in no condition to explain herself, and I’m trying to keep everyone calm.
Come home in the morning. We’ll discuss what happened, and then we can decide how to move forward.
I love you, but I will not participate in this kind of punishment. ”
The recording ended. Abby stared at the phone while the silence returned.
Hudson still believed he would oversee the discussion. He would decide when she had cried enough, which facts were relevant, and what consequences he was willing to accept.
Sadie reached for the phone, but Abby placed her hand over it. “No. I want to remember what he sounded like when he was defensive and angry and trying to manage me.”
“Why?” Sadie asked as she studied her face.
“Because tomorrow he’ll be gentle.” Abby looked at the ring between them. “He’ll bring flowers, or he’ll cry, or he’ll tell me about some terrible thing that happened to him as a child. Then I’ll start thinking the man at the hotel was only the worst version of him and that I should forgive him.”
Sadie did not offer a prediction or tell Abby what she should do. She remained across the table, close enough to intervene if Abby asked and quiet enough to let the decision belong to her.
Abby picked up the ring. For nine years, she had believed grace meant allowing people to become better than their worst choices. Hudson had accepted every allowance she offered and used it to make the next bad choice easier.
She placed the ring back on the table and pushed it away. “I’m not marrying him,” Abby said as she looked at her sister. Her voice shook, but the words did not. “Whatever happens after tonight, I am not marrying Hudson.”