From Christmas to Eternity

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘Preg—? Oh, Lucy.’ He gathered her into his arms, cradling her against his chest and feeling the joy burst in his heart. ‘Oh, that’s amazing,’ he said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. ‘How could you think I wouldn’t want another baby?’

  ‘Because you didn’t want Lottie?’

  He was stunned. ‘Of course I wanted her! I love her to bits.’

  ‘But you were never here for her, you hardly paid any attention to her when you were here, and I thought you didn’t want her, didn’t love her. Didn’t love any of us any more.’

  ‘Of course I love you. I love all of you—Lucy, how could you think that?’

  ‘Because you never tell us. The only time in ages you’ve told me that you love me, you were under the influence of David’s “happy drugs”.’

  He swallowed hard, remembering the burning, desperate need to say those words to her. ‘I thought it might be my last chance, that if I lost my speech permanently, I’d never be able to say it again. I didn’t know if you’d want to hear it, but I wanted you to know. Just for the record. And I know I’ve been difficult. I know I’m not easy to live with, I know I drive myself too hard, I know I try and overcompensate because of my parents, go too far the other way, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I do love you. I love you so much it’s hard to find the words, even under normal circumstances.’

  ‘Well, you seem to be doing all right at the moment,’ she said tearfully.

  He gave a hollow laugh and shook his head, then stood up and lifted a tiny little parcel from the tree.

  ‘This is for you. I don’t know if you’ll want it, or if it’s the last thing in the world you want from me, but it’s how I feel about you, and I should have shown you years ago. But I don’t want you feeling pressured by it. I love you. I want to make our marriage work, I always have, and I’m not very good at it, but I’m willing to try, and the last thing I’m going to do is walk away from you, ever. But if you want to walk away from me, if that’s what’s right for you, then I’ll understand, because I’m not the man you married. I don’t know what’s going to happen about my speech, I still have problems, and I may never be able to go back to my job again, and that changes things, I know that, so I can’t ask you to stay if you feel it’s wrong for you.’

  She stared at him, then down at the tiny parcel he’d put in her hands. There was a fine gold ribbon round it, and she pulled the bow and it fell away. The paper was meticulously folded round it, perfectly creased, and she unwrapped it and a small velvet box fell into her hand.

  It had a tiny gold clasp on one side, and hinges on the other, and it looked very old. A ring box?

  She lifted the catch and opened the lid, and gasped.

  ‘Andy!’ she breathed, and then her eyes flooded with tears. ‘Oh, Andy, it’s beautiful.’

  ‘It’s an eternity ring,’ he said gruffly, ‘because that’s how long I’ll love you.’

  Tears cascaded down her cheeks, and she lifted the ring out of the box and gave it to him, her fingers shaking.

  ‘Put it on my finger, please?’ she asked him softly, and with hands that shook slightly, he slid it on. It settled there next to her other two rings as if it had been made for it, and she stared down at them and sniffed.

  ‘Oh, Andy, it’s perfect. Where did you find it?’

  ‘In the jewellers’ in town. It had only just come in the day before, and it had to be cleaned and repaired, because it was a little worn on one side, but it just seemed to have your name written all over it, and it was the right size.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I took your engagement ring with me.’

  ‘The day I couldn’t find it,’ she said, realising what he’d done.

  He nodded.

  ‘I can’t believe you thought I didn’t love you any more,’ she said.

  ‘You haven’t told me recently, either,’ he pointed out. ‘I’ve been too busy making sure all the boxes were ticked, and you’ve just been left to muddle along in the chaos that I’ve left behind.’

  She nodded.

  ‘We’ve been pretty rubbish, haven’t we?’ she agreed.

  ‘We have. Shall we start again?’

  ‘Good idea. I love you. And it doesn’t matter to me if you go back to work or not, you’re still the man I love and you always will be. I just might have to hide the garden tools.’

  He laughed softly, then his smile grew tender. ‘I love you, too. And I’m sorry you had to throw me out to get me to come to my senses. Thank you for standing by me through all of this. It would have been so easy to walk away, especially the way I’ve been.’

  ‘It would never be easy to walk away from you,’ she said, remembering the day he’d gone. ‘I thought my heart would break when I heard that door close behind you. And when I realised you were so ill, when I thought I might lose you for ever—’

  He scooped her up in his arms and settled down with her on the sofa, cradled on his lap. ‘You haven’t lost me. You’ll never really lose me, whatever happens. I’ll always love you.’

  My dearest, darling Lucy

  If you’re reading this, it’s because it’s all gone horribly wrong. I hope you never have to. As I write, I’m filled with dread for what the future holds for us all. Not for me. I’m not afraid for me, but for you and the children, because I know the impact of losing your parents is devastating, and I can’t bear to think of the children growing up with that sadness hanging over them. I know you’ll be amazing with them, loving and supportive, and I hope in time you’ll find someone to support you, too, hopefully someone who won’t let you down as I have.

  This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write, and I don’t know where to start, except to say I’m sorry that I’ve somehow hurt you or let you down. I never meant to. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you, for the family, but that doesn’t seem to have been what you wanted. It’s too late now to change, too late to do anything about it except to apologise with all my heart for failing you, for letting our marriage get brushed aside by other things.

  You have been my reason for living, the only thing that’s got me through the tough times, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The ten years I’ve been privileged to be with you have been the happiest and most fulfilling of my life, and I’m gutted at the thought that all of that might be gone, wiped away by this crazy thing in my head.

  Even if I live, I might be unable to function normally, might be unable to communicate or understand, paralysed—who knows? And I cannot bear the thought of you tied to me under those conditions. If that is what’s happened, then please, PLEASE, don’t stay with me. I want you to be free, to find a new life with the children, a life of peace. I don’t want you staying with me out of guilt or pity, trapped in an impossible situation because of a vow you made to a different man, the man I used to be. I love you far too much to bear that.

  Be happy, my darling. Be free of guilt and pain and fear. Love our children for me, and when they ask about me, try and remember the good times.

  All my love,

  Andy

  One year later...

  ‘Mummy, Mummy, Daddy’s home!’ Emily shrieked.

  Lucy came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a tea towel, and kissed him. ‘Hi,’ she said, her eyes smiling. ‘How was work?’

  How was it? Great, was how it was. Great that he was back, great that, after a month of supervision, he’d been passed as fit to work alone since May. He’d done what James had suggested, taken his time, waited until he was sure he was all right rather than rush it and go back too soon, and he’d spent that extra time with his family.

  And as a result of that experience, he’d only gone back part time, job sharing with a woman who had a young family, and it was panning out really well. He had time for the children, time for Lucy and time for
himself. It was a win-win situation, and he loved it.

  ‘Work was fine. Good. Surprisingly quiet, thankfully. How are you? Are you coping with all the Christmas chaos?’

  She chuckled. ‘I’m fine. I’m glad you’re home promptly, though.’

  ‘I promised I would be,’ he said pointedly, and she smiled, because these days, if he promised something, he did it. No messing. No ifs or buts, nothing getting in the way, because he’d learned that he wasn’t indispensable to anyone but his family, and they always came first, without exception.

  ‘It’s so nice to be home with you,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t know what I was missing before.’

  She smiled and kissed him again, lingering this time a moment longer. ‘Mum and Dad have arrived. Go and say hello and then come and open a bottle. You’re off now for three days, and I intend to make sure you relax.’

  ‘You do that,’ he said, grinning, and he went into the sitting room and scooped Daniel off the floor. ‘Hello, monster, how are you?’ he asked, tucking the giggling baby into the crook of his arm and greeting his in-laws warmly. ‘I think Lucy’s got some champagne in the fridge. Can I tempt you?’

  ‘I think that would be lovely,’ Lucy’s mother said, getting to her feet and kissing his cheek.

  They followed him into the kitchen, and he stole a slice of bread with smoked salmon on it. ‘Yum. Hi, Lottie. Hi, Megan.’

  ‘Hi, Daddy,’ they chorused, and he handed Daniel over to his grandfather and popped the cork on the champagne, then raised his glass.

  ‘Happy families,’ he said, and the adults echoed him.

  ‘It’s not happy families, silly, it’s Happy Christmas!’ Megan told him, laughing, but he just grinned at her and hugged her.

  ‘Same thing, isn’t it?’ he said, and over the top of her glass Lucy smiled at him, her eyes filled with love and laughter.

  ‘Definitely. I couldn’t have put it better myself...’

  * * * * *

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  ISBN: 9781460301401

  Copyright © 2012 by Caroline Anderson

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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