by Tina Beckett
‘Please don’t say that, Max. Let’s talk about it.’
‘There is nothing to talk about. You wanted a divorce? Well, guess what, honey, so do I.’
CHAPTER TEN
THE TRIP BACK to Cheltenham had been made in total silence. She could have tried to plead her case, but she doubted that Max would have heard anything she had to say.
Just as in their marriage, he had shut down emotionally. His face and the tight way he’d gripped the wheel had seemed to confirm that, so Annabelle had stared out of the window at the passing countryside, doing her best not to burst into tears.
He wasn’t any more willing to fight for her—for them—than he had been three years ago. And she was done trying.
She loved him, but she was not going to kneel at his feet and beg him not to leave.
After working her afternoon shift—during which she hadn’t seen Max a single time, not even to check on Hope—she’d spent a long sleepless night, first in her bed, and when that hadn’t worked she’d lain on the sofa.
This morning, she was exhausted, but resigned. If he wanted to sign the papers, she was going to let him. She unpacked her bag, staring at herself in the mirror for a long time.
Was he right? Had some subconscious part hoped she might become pregnant because of what they’d done? Maybe. And if she was honest with herself, there was probably some long-lost side of her that would always harbour a tiny sliver of hope. How could she just extinguish it?
She couldn’t. And evidently Max would not be able to love the side of her that wanted children.
Okay. She would just deal with it, as she had the last time.
She went to the shelf and picked up the manila envelope, blowing three years’ worth of dust off it. Sitting at her desk, she withdrew the papers inside, her hand shaking as she laid them out flat, realising she’d never really looked at what her solicitor had sent over. Max wasn’t the only one who had put off walking this through to the end.
Petition for dissolution of the
marriage between
Maxwell Wilson Ainsley
and
Annabelle Brookes Ainsley
She was listed as the petitioner and he was the respondent. In other words, she was asking for the divorce and it was up to Max to respond.
Which he had, yesterday.
The night before last she’d felt such hope. And now here she was, back where she’d started three years ago.
Only worse. Because back then, when he’d issued his ultimatum about discontinuing the IVF attempts, she hadn’t completely believed him. Until she’d caught him looking at that ovulation journal. She’d seen his face and had known it was over.
But that was all in the past. At least she’d thought so until yesterday. She’d had no idea he harboured such terrible resentment of their time together.
After they’d made love, Annabelle could have sworn that those old hurts had been healed. Obviously she’d been wrong.
Annabelle stared at the document.
She was the petitioner.
The word swirled through her mind again and again. Just because someone asked for something didn’t mean the other person had to give it to them, did it? No, but Max seemed more than willing to let her have what she wanted. Only she wasn’t sure she wanted it any more.
Why? Because he’d hurt her pride? No. That hurt went far deeper than that.
What if she, the petitioner, withdrew her request? Was that even possible? She could try to stop the process and, if Max insisted, let it turn into a long drawn-out battle in the courts. She could try to hurt him the way he’d hurt her. But that wasn’t what Annabelle wanted. She didn’t want to hurt him. Or to fight with him.
She didn’t want to fight at all.
But that didn’t mean that wasn’t what should happen.
Hadn’t her parents always taught her to fight for what she believed in? And wasn’t that what she’d expected of Max all those years ago?
Yes.
Even now, despite his angry words, she believed they had a chance if they let go of the past. But did Max believe the same thing? After yesterday, she wasn’t sure.
Why had he got so angry after she’d joked about her getting pregnant?
Because he thought she still wanted children and he didn’t?
That was what he’d implied when he’d mentioned hitting the ‘magic’ window: If so, you’ve got the wrong man.
She didn’t know for sure, because Max had refused to talk to her!
So, she had a choice. Let him sign and be done with it. Or go and have it out with him. Whether he wanted to or not.
Where? She had no idea if he’d even gone in to work yesterday afternoon.
She could always go to his house. If she knew where that was. She realised she didn’t have a clue where he lived.
But she knew someone who did.
* * *
Max circled his living room for what seemed like the hundredth time, trying to find some kind of peace with his decision. If he could leave the country, as he had three years ago, he would. But he had a contract to fulfil, and he was dead tired of running.
He loved Annabelle. More than life itself.
But the thought of standing by a second time while she destroyed her health and more over a dream that was never going to come true was a knife to the heart. That time she’d retained fluid and had been so sick, he’d been afraid he was going to lose her. It had all turned into one huge ball of misery. The empty promises from fertility doctors. The tears. The torment. There had been no holy grail. No miracle.
And when she’d finally realised he was serious that last time? She’d told him to leave. Had sent him packing, cutting him off from the only real and good thing he’d ever known. And he’d been willing to walk away to make it all stop.
His statement about there being no miracle wasn’t entirely true. There had been. But it hadn’t been in what he or any of the doctors could give to Anna. It was what Anna had given to him: a love like none he’d ever known.
And what had he done? He’d thrown it away a second time. Because he’d been afraid.
Could he undo the things he’d said? Maybe, but how did he convince her to be happy with what she had? With him?
A cold hand clutched his chest. Was that what it had been? Had he been jealous of her attempts to have a child?
No. He could answer that honestly. That wasn’t his reason for walking out on her yesterday. And yes, even though he hadn’t physically left the vicinity, he had walked away from the burgeoning hope of a new beginning.
And for what?
For a few careless words uttered in a bathroom? Had he really stopped to listen to what she was saying, or had he simply assumed she was headed down the same old path?
The problem was, he hadn’t actually heard her out, he’d simply blurted out that he didn’t want children and that he wanted to finalise the divorce.
Was she waiting for him to sign the papers? Was she even now informing her solicitor to finish what she’d started?
His throat tightened until it was difficult to breathe. She should. She should leave him far behind and forget all about him.
But he didn’t want her to.
So what should he do?
Probably what he should have done three years ago. Stand in front of her and listen to her heart, rather than issue ultimatums. Hear what it was she wanted out of life. If it came out that they wanted completely different things, then he could walk away with no regrets. It was just that Max wasn’t so sure they did. They had worked together—had loved together—in a way that had made him hope that this time might be the charm.
Weren’t those almost the exact same words that Annabelle had said in that bathroom?
Yes.
&n
bsp; So why was he standing here wondering if he’d done the right thing? He needed to find her and pray that he wasn’t too late.
Opening his wardrobe, he grabbed a leather jacket and headed towards the front door. He could always camp in front of Baby Hope’s hospital room and wait for Annabelle to show up. Because if he knew one thing about the woman it was that she loved that baby. She had fought for the infant’s survival time after time. Maybe it was time that someone—him—decided to fight for Annabelle.
Just as he reached for the doorknob his bell rang, startling the hell out of him.
He frowned. Come on. I really need a break here.
Wrenching the door open to tell whoever it was that he didn’t have time for chit-chat, he was shocked to find the person he’d just been thinking about standing on his front mat.
No. That couldn’t be right.
He forced his gaze to pull the image into sharp focus. Still the same.
‘Anna?’ Her eyes looked red, and she carried a packet under her arm. ‘Are you okay?’
‘No. No, I’m not, actually.’ She took a deep breath and then held up an envelope. ‘But I brought my copy of the divorce papers. If you have yours, you can sign them, and I’ll take them both to my solicitor.’
His throat clogged with emotion. He was too late. He’d brought the axe down on something that could have made him happy for the rest of his life. He should tell her he wasn’t going to sign them, that it wasn’t what he wanted at all, but somehow the words wouldn’t form.
Because she was going to leave him all over again.
It’s not like you didn’t tell her to.
‘Are you going to ask me in?’
Realising she was standing in the cold, he took a step back, motioning her inside his cottage.
‘Let me take your coat and hat.’
Annabelle shed both items, handing the gear to him, but retaining her hold of the envelope. ‘Thank you.’
He led her into the living room and made her a cup of tea, while she perched on the couch, the packet resting across the knees of her jeans. He wanted to take it from her and toss it into the gas fireplace he’d switched on, but hadn’t he decided to listen to her heart? To hear her out without jumping to any conclusions?
But she said he could sign his copy of the papers right there in front of her.
If he wanted to.
He waited until she’d had her second sip of tea before wading into the waters. ‘You didn’t have to bring your copy. I have one of my own.’
He couldn’t imagine saying anything more stupid than that.
‘I know. But I wanted to come by and get a few things off my chest. In person.’
Taking a gulp of his coffee and feeling the scald as it went down his throat, he paused to let her talk.
Reaching deep into her handbag, she pulled out a notebook. Max recognised the green floral cover and immediately stiffened. Why did she even still have that?
‘When I was packing my things to come to Cheltenham, I found this, and realised the enormity of the mistake I’d made all those years ago. Keeping this a secret was wrong on so many levels.’ Her chest rose as she took a deep breath. ‘What I said in the bathroom had nothing to do with this. I meant the words as a joke, but they backfired horribly and ended up shooting me in the heart. I wasn’t scheming to get pregnant after the fundraising party, I swear.’
‘I’m just beginning to realise that.’ One side of his mouth tilted slightly. ‘I think you used the word “ridiculous” to describe my reaction. You were right.’
Her eyes searched his. ‘I never should have said that. And just so you understand, I know I’m not going to get pregnant from having sex with you. Not two days ago. Not three months from now. Not ten years from now. I’m sorry if you thought that was what I was after. I’m not. Not any more.’
A pinpoint of hope appeared on the horizon. ‘So you’re not interested in having a baby?’
‘If it happened, I would be ecstatic. But I’m not going to chase after it ever again. Especially knowing you don’t want kids.’
‘I never said that.’ Even as the words came out, he realised he had. He’d said that very thing. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who’d misunderstood. ‘Okay, I did. But I meant I didn’t want to go through the procedures any more. It hurt too much to see how they ripped you apart emotionally. Physically. Especially after that last attempt.’
He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. ‘I thought you were going to die, Anna. And in the end, that’s why I agreed to leave.’
‘What?’ The shock on her face was unmistakable.
He nodded. ‘I’ve never done anything harder than walk through that door. The only thing that kept my feet moving was the thought that I might be saving your life. With me gone, you’d have no reason to go through any more treatments.’
‘I—I never knew.’
If he’d been hoping she’d leap into his arms after that revelation, he was mistaken. Instead, she looked down at the journal in her hands, smoothing her fingers over the embossed cover. ‘You hurt me, Max, when you came into that bathroom all those years ago and issued an edict that it was over. That I wasn’t to try to get pregnant any more. I felt I had no control over anything, not even my own decisions.’
He knew he’d hurt her. ‘You’re right. We should have discussed it together.’ He stood and walked towards a bank of windows that overlooked a park, stuffing his hands into his front pockets. ‘It’s just that seeing you in such torment... Well, it ripped my heart out.’
‘And it killed me that I couldn’t give you what you wanted.’
‘What I wanted?’ He turned back towards her.
‘A family. You used to talk about how you wanted a big family, just like mine. So you could give our children what your parents hadn’t given to you. And I wanted so desperately for you to have that. Then, when it came down to it—’ her voice cracked ‘—I couldn’t give it to you.’
He sat down next to her on the couch, horrified by her words. Had she really thought that? ‘Anna, you were my family. Yes, I was disappointed that you couldn’t get pregnant. But only because it seemed to be something you wanted so desperately.’
‘I wanted it because of you.’
Could it be? Had he misread the signs all those years ago? Had he been so focused on the fights that had swirled around her efforts at conceiving that he’d missed the real reason she’d been so anguished after each failed attempt?
‘I had no idea.’ He took one of her hands.
‘I asked you to leave because I was hurt and trying to protect myself the only way I knew how. I took the coward’s way out.’
‘You’re not a coward.’ He took the journal from her, his thumb rubbing the edges of the little book. ‘I am. Because I love you too much to watch you go through this again.’
‘You love me?’
He stared at her. ‘You didn’t know?’
‘I thought I did. At one time. But now?’ She swallowed. ‘I’m not sure.’
He set the journal on the coffee table and caught her face in his hands. ‘I’m so sorry, Anna. Hell, I...’ He bowed his head, trying to control the stinging in his eyes. Then he looked back up at her. ‘I screwed everything up back then. And I screwed it up again at the flat yesterday morning.’
‘So you don’t want a divorce?’
He had to tread carefully. He wanted there to be no more misunderstandings. ‘I don’t. But I have to be sure of what you want out of life.’
‘You aren’t the only one who screwed up, Max. I wanted so badly to give you the things you didn’t get as a child: roots and a huge amount of love.’
‘You gave me those when you married me. That, along with your amazing, crazy family.’
‘They all love you, you know. It’s one of the reaso
ns I couldn’t bring myself to tell them about the divorce.’ His eyes weren’t the only ones stinging, evidently, judging from the moisture that appeared in hers. ‘So where do we go from here?’
He thought for a minute.
‘Maybe we should look at counselling. Find out how to handle everything we’ve been through. And after that?’ He picked up her left hand and kissed the empty ring finger. ‘I’d love to put something back on this.’
‘I still have my rings.’ She smiled. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever quite given up on us. It’s why I never asked my solicitor to find you and demand those signed papers back. I think I was hoping that one day you would find your way home. And you did.’
He smiled back, linking his fingers with hers. ‘It would seem we have fate—and Sienna McDonald—to thank for that. Although I would like to think I would have come to my senses if your solicitor ever had hunted me down.’
She leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘I guess I should have sicced him on you sooner, then.’
‘Maybe you should have.’ He dropped a kiss on her temple. ‘I have to tell you that picture of us in your parents’ dining room brought back memories of how happy we were. Of how things could have been had not things got so...’
‘Insane.’ She finished the sentence for him.
‘I don’t mean that in a bad way.’
‘I know. But it was.’ She lifted her head and motioned to the packet. ‘That brings me back to my original question. Do you want me to hold onto these just in case it doesn’t work out?’
‘No.’ Max got up from his seat and went over to a cabinet under his television. Opening the door, he retrieved an envelope that looked identical to hers. He sat back down, but didn’t take the papers out. Instead, he folded the packet in half, trapping the journal in between. ‘May I?’
He held out a hand for her envelope. When she gave it to him, he opened the flap and dropped the other items inside. Then he got up from the sofa. ‘What I really want to do is toss these into the fireplace and watch them burn to ashes, but, since it’s a gas fireplace, I’m afraid I’d set the cottage on fire.’
