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“We had keys to each other’s places, and I came home with Andy one evening to find her in my bedroom. She’d found a box filled with pictures of you and asked if I still loved you. I answered honestly and said yes. Her next question was if I loved her, to which I also responded that I loved her as Andy’s mother, but I had no romantic feelings for her. She had known I didn’t love her when we got married. We’d planned to divorce after gaining full rights to Andy and to split custody fifty-fifty. That never happened.”
“Why not?”
I choke back a sob and look at the floor while shaking my head. “Because Missy murdered Andy,” I whisper.
Twenty-Seven
Lauren
Gage’s shouldershunch in pain.
I begged him for the truth, demanded it, but now, I wish I hadn’t.
His truth is too powerful to take in all at once.
Andy was his son.
Missy killed him.
His then-wife murdered their child.
Jesus.
I didn’t prepare myself for a truth bomb of that magnitude.
As an ER nurse, I’ve witnessed death—parents losing children, children losing parents, lovers losing lovers.
Watching people hurt isn’t easy.
It’s harder when it’s someone you love.
His shallow breaths engulf the room, and sweat lines his forehead. I swipe my tears away before doing the same to his.
Am I ready for this?
Prepared to hear the details of his tragedy?
I spent all night reading Missy’s letter and repeatedly looking through the stack of photos until my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. I never meant for him to find out that I saw them. That’s my karma for snooping.
“I’m positive she suffocated him,” he says, his voice cracking. An empty stare covers his face, and he chokes back more tears while I gently rub his back. “Andy died because she was angry with me.”
I’ve only seen Gage cry only one other time—when his mother died. We were in his bedroom. He was in a similar stance—head low, eyes to the floor so that he could hide his hurt—and only seconds passed before he pulled himself together.
He inhales a deep breath before continuing while I shake my head in disbelief. “We never found his body.”
“Then, how …”
“She left me a voice mail, admitting to sending Andy to heaven to be happy. Later, in the car on the way to the police station, she admitted to killing him and then dumping his body in an undisclosed location. When she was brought in and it was time for her to confess, she took it all back. Her family’s high-profile attorney came in and cut off all her communication with us. In the end, she feigned innocence and took a plea.”
My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh my God.”
“I failed him,” he cries out. “I failed him, and now, he’s dead.”
I violently shake my head. “No. Her selfishness took him away, not you.” Guilt sweeps through me. Missy’s resentment of me led to her rage. “If anything, I’m more to blame than you. Had you not been in love with me, maybe he’d still be alive.”
It’s his turn to shake his head. “Don’t you dare put that on yourself.”
I want to tell him not to place the blame on himself, either. He’s suffering from the guilt of Missy’s actions. This isn’t what I expected. Fixing him isn’t going to be as easy as I thought.
