Chapter 117
They never spoke about it, but each knew that Megan’s first touches since her return were reluctant.
Even when, on occasion, she felt a fleeting rush of pleasure.
Tonight was clearly different.
Amid the soft glow of the bedside lamp, Sullivan’s tenderness was palpable. His every move seemed measured and thoughtful as if each caress carried the weight of his concern not to hurt her or to cause any distaste. He whispered into her ear to ask if she was
comfortable.
Megan wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips sealed with silence. Yet her body could not lie. That night, after three years of marriage, they found a depth of satisfaction that was profoundly mutual.
Afterwards, Megan soaked in a bubble bath.
Sullivan, in his trousers and a crisp shirt, settled on the patio to feel the breeze and smoke a cigarette.
The night wind teased his neatly trimmed hair and softened his usually stern features. From the bathroom, he heard the stir of Megan finishing her bath, knowing her ritual of blow–drying her hair and applying her skincare would yet consume a good part of the evening.
Leaning back in his chair, Sullivan flicked through his phone casually.
A new message blinked on WhatsApp.
It was from Cressida’s primary doctor, which detailed her latest diagnosis: [Mr. Lowry, the IV administered to Ms. Baldwin last visit contained a prohibited substance. Despite immediate intervention, it has caused irreversible damage to her organs. After consulting with specialists, we believe Ms. Baldwin may not have more than two years left.]
The message listed the medication involved.
Sullivan stared at the name, his long fingers clenching the phone until his knuckles whitened.
For a moment, he closed his eyes. His mood plummeted, the elation from his recent intimacy with Megan dissipating into the darkening night.
After a long pause, he made a call.
The phone rang, and when answered, his voice was icy, “Did you have a hand in what happened to Cressida? Don’t you think your hands are stained with too much already in trying to preserve the Lowry family’s honor? I’ve told you before, there’s no future for me and
Cressida.*
The person on the other end was silent before replying with equal reserve, “Sullivan, I don’t understand what you mean.”
Without another word, Sullivan hung up. He took out another cigarette, his hands trembling slightly as he lit it. Memories flooded him like a tide–the man leaving with his suitcase, a dignified while hysterical woman chasing after him, and their young son hidden in the stairwell watching the drama unfold helplessly.
“Percy Lowry, don’t bother coming back once you leave this door! Go be with her! What is she to have you so head over heel?”
But the man left anyway.
The dignified woman sat on the floor, muttering, “I
children with another woman?”
you leave me! You’re my husband; how can you be intimate and bear
She repeated those words, but unaware that the child was watching intently.
That scene would cast a shadow over the next twenty years of his life, teaching him… not to love again.
When Megan emerged from the bathroom, Sullivan was fully dressed.
She paused, “Sullivan, are you going out?”
Despite his sour mood, he managed a faint smile and pinched her cheek, “There’s a bit of business at the office. I need to take care of it. Go to sleep; don’t wait up for me.”
With that, he was gone.
Megan watched his retreating figure before settling in front of the vanity, proceeding with her nightly skincare routine as usual. After finishing, she stared at the drawer containing her birth control pills, lost in thought.
Tonight, Sullivan hadn’t used protection, and she was ovulating. Without the pill, the likelihood of pregnancy was high.
After a long hesitation, Megan finally swallowed a pill with water. Her emotions as an adult, she reasoned, must be controlled. Even with a heart stirred, reason must prevail. Without certainty of the future, it was unnecessary to bring a new life into the world.
Sullivan did not return that night.
