Martha glances up, her tear-stained face red and puffy. “She knew nothing of any of this either.” Relief floods her as she sags back into the couch.
“And Sebastian . . .” Her voice breaks completely now. “I’m so sorry.” A sob slips through. “I wanted to be his mum. I wanted that more than anything. But I’m not . . . not like this.” She inhales sharply. “You love him like he’s yours anyway. You always have. From the moment he started kicking you through my stomach.”
I laugh, it’s small and broken. “He chose you before he was even born. You’re his father, Ray, not by blood but by choice. Just like us. Like me, you, and Dale. And so, I’ve rigged a DNA test. It’s amongst my belongings that Catherine is holding. Say the word and Seb is yours, but please don’t feel any pressure. There is none. I just know you love each other more than any father and son.”
Hope swells in my chest.
“You and Wynter . . .” she continues and I still, turning back towards the room. “I see it,” she says gently. “Even when you pretend you’re a cold-hearted bastard. You love her. She makes you better. Softer. And you need that, whether you like it or not. Don’t push her away because of me, because of this. It’s okay to let your guard down, Ray. She’s not going to break your heart. She’s not going to leave you.”
Her voice fades slightly, like she’s getting tired.
“There’s a separate recording on this phone. It details everything—the abuse I suffered at the hands of Luke, the yearsof suffering that my therapist can back up, and the fact he helped me to die. He used his wife’s supply of pain relief and anti-depressants. It’s all detailed in the recording, so delete this one and take that to the police.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. She’s worked this whole thing out by herself, and I never suspected a thing.
“I love you, Ray.” Her words are simple, but they hurt me more than anything. “I always will.”
There’s a long pause, then barely a whisper.
“Take care of our boy . . . and give him the family we never had.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WYNTER
A month passes.
I hear nothing from the police and nothing from Ray.
Nothing but silence.
I fill it the only way I can—nights out with Holly when she’s not working, cheap drinks, loud music, anything to drown out the thoughts that creep in the second I’m alone. The rest of the time, I’m stuck behind the counter of a rundown chip shop, earning just enough to cover rent.
It’s not glamorous. It’s not even tolerable.
But it’s something.
The hangovers are brutal now, way worse than they used to be. The nausea lingers all day, clinging to me like a second skin, and the smell of chip fat doesn’t help. It turns my stomach every time I breathe it in.
I press a hand to my abdomen, rubbing gently, trying to settle the uneasy twist there.
“Just get through the shift,” I murmur under my breath.
The bell above the door rings, and I straighten automatically.
Then freeze.
His voice hits me before I even see him. “I offer you steak and you want chips?” Ray asks, amusement lacing his tone.
My heart stutters.
“I like chips,” a woman replies, laughing.
It’s not even a thought as I duck down behind the counter, my pulse racing as I glance wildly around.
If I stand up now, it’s obvious.
So, instead, I crouch like an idiot and shuffle sideways, then drop to my hands and knees, crawling towards the back room.