CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ISABELLA
I ask the question deliberately.
Alexander is in the library with a book open in front of him, although I am fairly certain he has been staring at the same page for several minutes. I walk in, close the door behind me, and remain standing in front of him.
“So all of this was Richard’s fault?”
He lifts his eyes slowly. Perhaps he recognizes the test for what it is, but he makes no attempt to avoid it.
“No.”
The answer comes without hesitation, and something tightens in my chest.
“He tampered with your test results, hired people to follow me, and had photographs produced specifically to make it look as though I was having an affair. He also knew that if you never had a child, Marcus would most likely benefit from the trust.”
“All of that is Richard’s responsibility.”
Alexander closes the book and stands.
“The fraud, the surveillance, the manipulation, and the attempt to prevent me from having an heir belong to Richard. The way I treated you still belongs to me.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I hate that I still seem to have so many left.
“You had false evidence.”
“And I had you standing in front of me, offering another round of tests, access to your doctor, and a paternity test.”
It is exactly the sentence I needed to hear for five years.
“Stop.”
My voice breaks.
Alexander does not come closer.
“What do you need me to stop doing?”
“Saying now everything I needed you to say that night.”
He remains silent.
“It isn’t fair,” I continue. “Do you know what it’s like to wait so long for a sentence that, when it finally comes, it feels too late to fit anywhere in your life?”
There is no answer he can give me, and for once he does not try to manufacture one.
I begin pacing.
“I wanted you to tell me you believed me. You didn’t need to solve the mystery or accept the pregnancy as some kind of miracle. I only needed you to believe I hadn’t betrayed you until we could investigate what had happened.”
Alexander lowers his head.
“And now you stand in front of me saying that I was evidence too, that you should have chosen me, that the medical reports did not justify everything you did. Now, when Lily is five years old and old enough to ask why her father wasn’t there.”
He opens his mouth, but I close my eyes.
“Do not tell me you know.”
Alexander closes it again.
The tears begin to fall, mixed with an anger that feels both ancient and completely new.
“I wanted to hate you when the truth came out,” I admit.
He watches me.
“Maybe you still do.”
“I do not need your permission to hate you.”
“You’re right.”
“Stop agreeing with me!”
The frustration bursts out of me, and this time he says nothing.
Perfect.
Infuriating.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” I say more quietly.
Alexander starts to answer, realizes the danger, and stops himself. Despite the tears, I almost laugh.
“At least you learn quickly.”
“About some things.”
I sit on the sofa and cover my face. The exhaustion arrives all at once, as though my body had been waiting for the whole truth to come out before finally giving up the effort of holding itself together.
A few seconds later, the cushion sinks at the opposite end. Alexander has sat down far enough away not to crowd me.
His caution, which has been necessary so many times, suddenly becomes irritating.
“Come here.”
He goes still.
“What?”
“Do not make me repeat myself.”
Alexander moves closer slowly and sits beside me, but he still does not touch me.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
I take his hand and place it at my waist.
Only then does Alexander put his arms around me.
I fall apart.
There is nothing graceful or quiet about it. I cry against the chest of the man who caused part of this pain and was himself the victim of another part, a contradiction so enormous that I no longer know where to place any of the feelings inside me.
Alexander holds me without squeezing too tightly. He does not kiss my hair or turn the embrace into an attempt at reconciliation. He simply stays.
“I hate Richard,” I say when I can breathe again.
“So do I.”
“And I hate you.”
His arm goes still for the briefest moment.
“I understand.”
“Not in the same way.”
The truth is dangerous, but I cannot take it back now.
Alexander remains silent.
“I can’t forgive everything,” I say.
“I’m not expecting you to do that now.”
“And if I never can?”
He draws in a deep breath.
“Then you never can.”
I pull back enough to look at him.
“You say that as though you accept it.”
“Emotionally, I don’t. The idea of losing you when the contract ends is unbearable, and there is no part of me that wants a life without you.”
The honesty comes without pressure.
“But,” he continues, “I understand that forgiveness is not mine to decide. Wanting it does not create an obligation for you.”
My fingers tighten slightly in the fabric of his shirt.
“I missed this.”
“The hug?”
“Not having to be strong by myself.”
Alexander closes his eyes.
“I should have—”
“No.”
I lift my face.
“Do not ruin this moment by turning it into another list of everything you failed to do.”
He nods and returns to silence.
We stay that way for a long time. Gradually, the crying eases, my breathing settles, and Alexander’s presence stops feeling like a threat. For a few minutes, he is simply warmth, two steady arms, and somewhere I can rest.
“Richard knew you would trust him,” I say eventually.
“Yes.”
“That must hurt too.”
“It does, but I don’t want you taking care of that part for me.”
“I’m not taking care of it. I’m acknowledging it.”
Alexander accepts the distinction.
“He became almost a father to me after my own father died. That is why I never questioned the clinic he recommended.”
“Trust is not stupidity.”
“It was what you gave me, and I treated it as though it were.”
The sentence threatens to open the door to guilt again.
“Stay in the present,” I warn him.
“I’m trying.”
When Lily comes home from school, she finds us sitting together on the sofa. We are no longer embracing, but we are close enough that our shoulders nearly touch.
She notices the reduced distance, smiles, and says nothing. Perhaps she has already learned that pointing out every change between adults can make them retreat.
She spends the afternoon telling us about something they did at school while Alexander finishes reviewing documents. When Lily asks whether Richard is “the bad uncle,” both of us stop what we are doing.
“Who said that?” I ask.
“I heard you and Grandma talking on the phone.”
I need to choose my words carefully.
“Richard may have done some very wrong things, but the adults are still checking everything.”
“Is he going to prison?”
“We don’t know,” Alexander answers. “That decision belongs to the people investigating and to the courts, not to us.”
“Are you angry with him?”
“Very.”
“Are you going to hit him?”
Alexander meets my eyes before he responds.
“No. Being angry does not give me the right to hurt someone.”
The sentence is not only for Lily. It is also a promise about what he intends to do with Richard.
That night, I stand outside my bedroom for almost a minute. I could go inside, close the door, and sleep alone as I have every night of this contract marriage except one.
Instead, I climb to the third floor.
Alexander is in bed reading documents. The moment he sees me, he places everything on the bedside table.
“Did something happen?”
“I want to sleep here.”
His expression does not change immediately, but his eyes reveal the impact.
“All right.”
“Just sleep.”
“Understood.”
“Do not try to turn—”
“Isabella.”
“What?”
“Just sleep.”
I take a breath and walk into the room.
Alexander pulls back the duvet and lets me choose which side I want. I lie down with a careful amount of space between us. He switches off the light and remains on his back, as though even looking at me might feel like expectation.
Five minutes pass, perhaps ten.
I reach beneath the duvet and find his hand.
Alexander threads his fingers through mine but does not move closer or ask for anything else.
I fall asleep that way.
It is not reconciliation, complete forgiveness, or a promise about the future. There are still clauses, separate bedrooms, and wounds that a single investigation cannot erase.
Even so, it is the first night in five years that I sleep beside him without feeling that I am betraying the woman I became after he broke me.
Perhaps that is because Alexander has finally stopped running from the man he was, and I no longer need to pretend that surviving means never wanting to rest in his arms again.