The Wrong Wife by Maya Alden

Chapter 36

Esme

Iwalked around the city while Declan met with a customer to soothe their nerves about a security breach. I felt lighter and happier. May was always one of the best times to be in New Orleans when it was pleasant.

My life was different, I admitted to myself. And I was happier…more than I had ever been. Declan had changed me in so many ways. And so, had I.

I was learning how to have fun. For the longest time I'd taken care of myself and had to deal with my family, and I'd never had the opportunity to just be me. I made new friends. Mateo, Forest, Raya, and Daisy. And even Baker, to some extent. As Declan's executive assistant, I sometimes felt I spoke more to him than to Declan when he was traveling.

I walked into a boutique and, on impulse, bought a new dress. We were going to go out for dinner at Muriel's and after we would go to Tremé for music. Declan loved Cajun food and jazz and seemed to be in his element in New Orleans. The dress had a tight bodice and came above my knee. Easy access, as Declan would say, I thought with a smile.

As I returned to the hotel, thinking I deserved a nap, my phone buzzed with a text message. It was my father. I didn't want to look at it, but I did.

"Call me."

I texted back that I'd call in five minutes.

I returned to our suite, sat in the living room, took a deep breath, and called my father. I knew what he wanted to talk about, asking me to leave Declan because if I did, he'd have no choice but to marry Viv to protect the merger. Declan had been firm there six months of contract period left, and he wasn’t going to file for an annulment.

Half a year had passed—the best time of my life.

"Hi, Daddy."

"Esme, your mother is in the hospital and wants to see you."

"What happened?" I felt panic claw at me.

"She fell down the stairs and has a broken ankle and three broken fingers. She's at UCLA Medical Center. When can you be here?"

"Ah…Declan and I are in New Orleans, Daddy."

“Get here soon,” he ordered and hung up.

I knew Declan was in a meeting, so I texted him instead of calling: My mother is in the hospital. I need to go home.

He responded immediately: Take the plane. I'll fly back commercial. Call Baker to set it up.

I called Baker, and he promised to get the pilot to file for approval for a flight plan back to LA for take-off in an hour.

I had just finished my conversation with him when Declan called.

"I stepped out of the meeting. What happened?"

"Daddy said she fell down the stairs and broke her ankle. And some fingers. Oh, god, Declan."

"I can leave this meeting, Esme and come with you."

"No, please stay. I don't want to interrupt your work. I can take a commercial flight, Declan."

"Don't be silly, sweetheart. Go home and be with your mother, and I'll be back at the latest by tomorrow morning. Okay?"

He texted me that he'd return to LA by midnight as I got to the hospital. The efficient Baker had made sure there was a car waiting for me. For someone who'd had to hustle as she watched her family sail through life, there was discomfort at having all this at my fingertips because of Declan.

Mark was waiting for me outside my mother's room. I had texted him to keep an eye on her until I arrived. He hugged me and then kissed me on my forehead.

"What?" I asked, wanting to push past him to see my mother.

"I need you to brace yourself. It looks worse than it is…actually, it's probably as bad as it looks."

"Okay. Tell me."

"Her right ankle is broken, and she will need surgery because the bone cracked and splintered, and a lot of physical therapy. Three of the fingers on her right hand are broken. Two ribs are broken. She has a rather deep gash on her forehead, and she's concussed."

I took inventory of all the injuries he'd listed. As a social worker, I'd read many such reports. I felt fear go up my spine. "And?" I demanded because I knew he had more to tell me.

He tightened his jaw. "The police were called by the attending doctor, Esme."

But for the fact that Mark was holding me, I'd have crumbled onto the floor. "No," I whimpered. But I knew. I'd known since my father had called me. This wasn't the first time, though definitely the first time that one of us was admitted by our real names into a treatment facility.

Mark held me tighter. "She's not pressing charges. Monica maintains that she fell down the stairs. Your sister says she saw it happen. The police can't do much even though we all know that..."

I raised my head from his scrubs, now damp with my tears. "He did this to her?"

Mark nodded sadly.

"Because of me, right?"

"No," Mark was emphatic, "Because he's a sick son of a bitch. Your sister is protecting him—and honestly, I think she believes he's incapable of hitting your mother. Or you."

"That was a long time ago." I wasn't going to dwell on the past.

"It happened just a few weeks ago. Declan told me about the marks on your arm, Esme."

"What? Now you're talking to my husband behind my back?" I pushed him away. "Just go, Mark. I need to see my mother."

I'd never been this rude to him, but fear made you say things you never thought possible.

"Go in, darling. I'll be waiting right here for you." But friends, real friends, didn't punish you for bad judgment. Instead, they continued to be there for you.

I nodded, feeling ashamed of myself.

I took a deep breath before I stepped into my mother's room. There were white roses on a table. My father probably, I thought bitterly, to make sure that people knew he was in the clear on this.

She was as pale as those flowers. Her eyes fluttered open, and she called out, "Esme?"

I went and sat on her bed. And I stroked her left hand where they'd put the IV cannula.

"Mama, I'm so sorry."

"Baby, please do what he says. Please."

"Yes, Mama. I will."

She was crying. "I'm so sorry, Esme, that I never protected you. And…I still can't."

"That's okay, Mama. It's you who requires protection."

It was always her who needed it. I wish she'd left him and freed us of him; however, my mother was too afraid to leave and even more fearful of being alone. He'd controlled her and me through cruelty and abuse, and here was the result. Did I think there would be no consequences for my not getting an annulment? I was so selfish. I'd thought because Declan was with me, I was safe and had not cared for what my father would do to Mama.

"Esme?" she whimpered.

"I'm right here.”

“Promise me you'll say nothing to the police. Promise me."

"I promise, Mama."

What would I tell them? Why would they believe me? They'd believe Julien and Viviane Hartley. Was Mark right in thinking Viv didn't know what our father did to us? How could she not know? Didn't she suspect when I moved in with abuela? Or did she buy the story I'd been fabricating my whole life that my parents were busy traveling, not that my mother was afraid that he'd kill me the next time?

"You have to convince Dec to marry Viv. Please, Esme."

How could she ask me of this? It would be like cutting my heart out.

"I will, Mama."

She smiled weakly and closed her eyes. "Good. Good. I'll sleep now. Can you get me my makeup bag? Your father said he'd come tomorrow. I want to make sure I look good for him."

"Yes, Mama."

I held her hand as she fell asleep, my heart as broken as her body was.