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“Hi, it’s me, Emma. I lied to you and stole your most prized piece of artwork,” she might say. “And now I’m pregnant with your child.”
“You can’t be trusted with a child,” Patrick might reply.
That was Emma’s biggest fear. If she told Patrick about the baby, he might well decide to fight her for custody. The thought of losing this child, a new ray of hope in a life that seemed cloudy and dark, brought her near to tears.
Even if Patrick didn’t want to take the baby away, he wouldn’t want anything to do with Emma. That much was clear. It was better for him not to be involved than for her to put him on the spot and for him to resent her.
Still, she had yet another reason to feel guilty. Even though she was sure it was the right option, not telling Patrick that he was going to be a father felt wrong. One day, she came so close to telling him that she walked right by LWC’s offices. But then she just kept walking. Her highest loyalty had to be to her child now, and the best way to protect her child was by keeping her pregnancy secret. As terrible as she felt about hiding the pregnancy from Patrick.
She told herself that they hadn’t been that close, that they’d only been dating for a short time, and that he probably wouldn’t want a child anyway. But as Emma began to attend obstetric appointments, collect tiny onesies, and think about names, she couldn’t banish the sorrow she still felt.
Emma knew she couldn’t do this alone, though. She started reaching out to fellow teachers at her community college and to an expectant mom group she had decided to join. As weeks of pregnancy turned into months, Emma realized that she actually had friends for one of the first times in her life. It was a strange feeling, but it was good, too. She used her real name with her new friends and let them know small parts of her real history. Finally, Emma didn’t have to lie anymore. In this way, she hoped to honor the impact Patrick had had on her life, even if she never saw him again.
It wasn’t enough, but it was something. When this baby was born, it would be born into a world where its mother told the truth. Where its mother painted every day. And where its mother did everything she could to fix the mistakes she’d made.
CHAPTER 18
PATRICK
Patrick had fallen back into his old routines — long hours of work, little time for anything personal. It was for the best. He woke each day early, went for a run, then headed straight for work. There he stayed until the sun had long ago slipped beneath the horizon and he was the last person left. Then, he’d drag himself home for a quick dinner.
Only here did his routine differ from what he’d done before he met Emma. Instead of going straight to bed or spending a little time watching a TV show, he would sit in the living room for some time and look at the forgery Emma had made.
It still hurt him to see it, but something about the painting gave him a strange kind of comfort. Each time he looked at it, he saw the faint heart in the corner. And he saw the beauty in Emma’s artistry, even though it was different from the work of the original painter. Her brushstrokes were almost playful in comparison, and it gave the whole painting a lighthearted feeling that Patrick needed right now.
In this routine, October turned to November. The Christmas holidays came and went, with Patrick dutifully attending a rather awkward dinner hosted by his parents that seemed to be intended to show off his successes instead of spend any quality time as a family. Then the Christmas lights came down and the cold, biting wind of January rolled across the lake and through Chicago. February brought stores full of pink and red hearts and teddy bears, which Patrick avoided looking at. He’d always known he wasn’t one for romance. With Emma, it seemed that things could have been different, but he’d been wrong. It was time to go back to his old bachelor ways.
In March, the weather began to warm. Buds began to sprout on the trees. Patrick noticed that they were the same trees Emma had so admired when they’d been decked out in fall foliage. It was a strong reminder that almost half a year had passed since he had last seen her.
The night that the first buds appeared on the trees outside the office, Patrick went home to look at the Aurora forgery again. He still hadn’t reported Emma to the police. Owen was on the lookout for any appearance of the original painting on the market, black or otherwise, but there had been no sign so far. Maybe Emma had stolen the painting for a private collector or had already had a sale lined up.
No matter what, though, Patrick couldn’t bring himself to go to the police. Partially, he still cared about Emma and didn’t want her to get in trouble, but another part of him just didn’t want confirmation that everything they’d experienced together had been a lie. As long as he didn’t go to the police, he could imagine that Emma had had her reasons and that all was well.
Today, as he gazed at the painting, he noticed something he’d never seen before. In the foreground of the painting was a beautiful woman in a white dress, her back to the painter. She looked beautiful, but Patrick had always thought she was a little sad. Today, he noticed that she was holding something in the curve of her left hand. Patrick moved closer. Sure enough, there was something there. It was a silver chain, at the end of which was a tiny glass teardrop.
It was possible that the teardrop had always been there, but Patrick wasn’t sure. He quickly looked up a picture of the original and zoomed the tiny screen of his phone in on the woman’s left hand. It was empty.
Patrick’s heart began to race. Emma had left him a second message — beyond the faint heart in the sky. The woman was holding a teardrop on a chain. Patrick wanted to believe that it meant she was sad or that she felt chained down. Maybe Emma hadn’t wanted to steal the painting at all. Maybe she’d been forced into it.
For the first time, Patrick seriously considered going to the police. What if someone had coerced Emma into stealing the painting? Maybe there was still a chance for them. Maybe the police would uncover that Emma had been blackmailed.
But as much as Patrick hoped that might be the case, he had no real proof beyond a few splashes of paint. Maybe the teardrop on the chain meant something else. Maybe it didn’t mean anything at all.
He sighed. He was seizing on the details of a painting to try and prove he hadn’t imagined what he and Emma felt for each other. This was a new low. He needed to stop staring at the forgery and move on with his life. He’d been fine before Emma. He would be fine again.
Over the next week, Patrick tried his best to stop thinking about Emma and Aurora. He even took the forgery down and stowed it among the rest of his paintings in the storeroom. It was hard, but he knew it was the right thing to do. Even if Emma hadn’t wanted to steal the painting, that didn’t mean that she really cared about him. Staring and wishing wouldn’t help anyone. It was really time to move on.
In April, Patrick attended another art gala. It was the first he’d gone to since he’d attended the charity event with Emma. He spent the evening mingling and looking at the art and trying not to think about their time together. Just before the silent auction was set to end, he caught sight of the last person he wanted to see. Aleksander Ariti looked as put together, and as stuck-up, as ever. It had been a while since Patrick had seen him, he realized now.
“Patrick!” Aleksander strode across the room, directly towards him. Great. They were going to talk now.
“Hello, Aleksander.” Patrick held out his hand for the usual shake, and found his hand enveloped in a bone-crushing grasp.
“How are you doing?” Aleksander asked. His tone was jovial.
“Not bad. And you?”
“Oh, very well. Very well. Although I have to say, I’m surprised you’re in such good spirits.”
