‘Who else is there to blame?’ He pulled out plates and put the food on them, got cutlery from the drawer. He didn’t look at her. ‘You do, too, Anna, or you’d never have left. You wouldn’t have moved out of our bed if some part of you didn’t believe me at least partly responsible for Adam’s death, and your near-death.’
Beyond shock now—how many years had she wanted Jared to say something so profound, and ask her?—she opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Did she blame him for that?
At that moment Melanie lunged forward, trying to get to the floor, and she let the baby down, where she happily tugged at a broken corner of black-and-white linoleum that needed replacement. Anna replaced the makeshift toy with a wooden spoon, which Melanie began banging with a gurgle.
Then Anna found her mouth moving of its own accord, words she didn’t know were true or a lie. ‘Jared, I never once thought—’
‘Don’t say it, Anna. If you’re going to leave me after this, despite your promise, then at least end it honestly,’ he said with suppressed violence. ‘Our son is dead because of me.’
Thunder cracked overhead, and the baby jumped; her face crumpled, and she wailed. Glad of the distraction, Anna touched her downy little head in a loving caress of reassurance, but her mind had stalled like a car engine that had run out of oil. ‘What do you want me to say?’ she asked slowly, feeling that pivotal moment stretching out, unwinding like a ball of yarn.
‘It’s not about what I want,’ he said, with a dark unutterable weariness that tugged at her soul. ‘For once in our lives, stop playing Miss Perfect, stop giving me what I want and tell me the truth.’
The truth was that, for months, she’d hated the world for not understanding, hated the help group that she’d attended for having found a place of peace she hadn’t been able to see. She’d hated Lea for having Molly so easily and so carelessly from a one-night stand, hated Jared for getting on with life when she couldn’t, didn’t know how—didn’t want to.
This was why she’d hated those she loved the most—for never asking—and at last he’d asked, at the perfect moment. The perfect time for him.
She gave a tired laugh. ‘Oh, that’s great, Jared, ask when it’s less painful, less imperative, when I have Melanie, and I don’t feel as if I’m bleeding to death any more.’ Her hands curled into balls, shaking, longing to lash out. ‘You didn’t want to know before, you ignored me when I all but begged you to hear me, so why choose now, when it can’t make a difference?’
He stood with his back to her, legs spread wide, his white-knuckled hands gripping the kitchen bench like he stood in quicksand and it stopped him sinking. ‘Because I’m not too afraid to ask you now.’
‘Because you’re back on home territory, and in control?’ she half mocked, the months of repressed fury and betrayal bubbling up in unexpected flashpoint.
As if he’d expected the words, he shrugged and said simply, ‘Because I’ve already lost you, lost Adam. So say it, Anna; get it all out. There can’t be worse.’
On legs surprisingly steady—maybe part of her had always known he’d ask eventually; he’d been waiting for this time, when he was back safe on his turf—she found a chair and sat down, half-facing Melanie, replacing the flooring corner which she was pulling at again with a plastic bottle. The baby began banging it on the floor, squealing in delight at the juddering noise.
And, watching the baby, she felt the fury draining away, just when she wanted to hold hard to it. With a little sigh, she let her heart speak for her. ‘Why did you never even hesitate about choosing to implant Adam when the doctor said it was dangerous to try again? Why, Jared? He’d told us fairly bluntly that the baby and I could both die, but you kept pushing. Was a son worth more to you than my life?’
After a long silence, broken only by Melanie’s play, he asked, ‘Are you hungry? Lunch will get cold soon.’
There it was, his withdrawal, right on cue. Don’t poke and prod me like a cow, don’t push me or I’ll retreat. It was her turn now to make it easy, to say yes and eat, and after the baby was asleep he’d reward her in the way that had once made her happy, had once been enough.
It had never been enough.
She lifted her chin, and spoke from a place of control, because she no longer cared if he retreated or withheld affection from her. ‘No, I’m not hungry. I asked you a question, and I’d like you to answer it.’
He stopped in mid-stride, turning to stare at her from over his shoulder. ‘Have you believed that all this time?’ His face was unreadable, but his voice held some deeper-hidden emotion.
‘Stop it,’ she said, soft, holding in the anger lest they upset the baby. ‘Stop turning the questions onto me. You always do that instead of answering, to make me talk. It’s your way of finding out my issue so you can find the solution to the problem.’
He wheeled right around to face her then, frowning. ‘You don’t want a solution?’
The question was so typically Jared, she laughed before turning his words of the day before onto him. ‘I want you to talk.’ Then, in deliberate provocation, she added, ‘I want you to have the courage to answer my question.’
His clenched fist thudded on the sink. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.’
The confusion, the frustration rang so clear she heard it like a bell tolling. He didn’t understand, didn’t know what to do if he couldn’t do, couldn’t act, couldn’t fix. He was waiting for his cue to charge into the fray like Lancelot, finding a way to make things better.
‘I asked you a question. Was having the required son and heir worth more to you than my life?’ she asked again. Pushing with a rapier covered in silk.
‘Dear God, how can you even ask?’ he rasped.
‘I need to know. I need to hear it. I’ve wondered—doubted—for a long time.’
He shook his head, with a slow wonder. ‘I did everything for you, for us.’ Anger vibrated through every word, denial of what she’d asked.
‘You talked me into trying once more, with the last embryo—with Adam—when they’d told us both the risks. I was terrified, but you never faltered. You had to have your son, the Curran heir. That’s how it felt to me, Jared.’ She kept her voice gentle but she was pitiless. She had to know. When he didn’t answer, she went on, ‘I’d given you one of two things you’d planned for the life you wanted—Jarndirri—and you had to have the other, your son and heir from a Curran woman’s body. If the cost was my life, it didn’t seem to matter.’
In the silence, she saw a sheet of white-hot lightning rip across the sky outside the window. She lifted Melanie into her arms before the boom followed and frightened her. When the sound passed she put the baby down again and turned to look at him, saw his fingers clenching that old, worn bench so tightly, his fingers looked ready to snap.
Or maybe it was Jared that was about to snap.
She forced herself to not move to him, to not comfort him with touch, and do the talking for him. She’d waited too long to know.
‘It mattered.’ He was taut, holding onto control by a tiny thread. The struggle was so clear inside him she could almost see the straining, emotions against his will, a tug of war she’d never known existed until now, when the rope was stretched to breaking.
‘But not as much as having a son—Bryce Curran’s