should probably curtail your weekly visits to Warren for the time being.”
“I’m sorry?” I said, a little stunned. “What do you mean?” I’d been visiting Warren at his home once a week for the past two years. We played hearts, watched old films, or just read together, he with his war novels, and I with my romance novels.
“It’s his heart, dear,” she continued. “You heard Ethan. The doctor says it’s been weakened. With all of your…well, it’s just that Warren doesn’t need any extra…drama right now.”
“Extra drama?” My cheeks burned. “You think my visiting him is bad for his health?” I looked at Ethan for backup.
“Well of course we don’t mean that, darling,” Glenda said, patting my back ceremoniously. I hated the patronizing tone in her voice. “We’re just looking out for his best interest, as he makes his recovery—”
“Mom,” Ethan said, holding out his hand in protest. “Grandfather loves Claire. She’s one of the few people who make him happy.” He squeezed my hand in solidarity, but I was too shell-shocked to squeeze it back.
I felt Glenda’s stone-cold gaze on my face when I turned to Ethan. Rogue tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn’t bear to let his parents see them brim over my lids, yet I knew I couldn’t stop them. “Thank you,” I whispered to my husband, before releasing his hand and turning to the elevator.
“Claire, please,” Ethan said, after his parents had walked farther down the hallway. He pulled me close to him and kissed my forehead lightly. “Don’t listen to my mom.”
I nodded as the elevator opened. A nurse in blue scrubs eyed the sign ahead. “Oops, wrong floor,” she said. In a wheelchair near her was a woman in a hospital gown who clutched a tightly swaddled newborn to her breast, his face red and puffy. The new mother smiled, a tired, satisfied smile, as her proud husband hovered over them. Love oozed from their every fingertip. The elevator door closed.
“I’m sorry, Ethan,” I said in a voice that quivered. “I can’t stay here. I have to go.”
I waited for the elevator to open again and then stepped inside. When the doors closed, I buried my face in my hands and wept.
Chapter 11
VERA
The plump female shopkeeper at Frederick and Nelson eyed me disapprovingly before looking up at Lon’s assistant and letting out an annoyed sigh. “Another one?”
Andrew pointed to a rack of formal dresses in the distance. “She’ll need an array of gowns,” he said. “Mr. Edwards prefers red, but throw in some other colors—for variety. And she’ll need other garments too.” He gave the woman a knowing look, before checking his watch. “Charge it to Mr. Edwards’s account, as usual.”
“All right,” the woman said, raising an eyebrow. “We have work to do.”
“Good,” Andrew said. “Please see to it that she arrives at the hairdresser by four. Mr. Edwards will be meeting her for dinner at five, and not a minute later.” I felt like goods on a delivery truck.
I followed her into a changing room and stood numbly in front of a mirror as she pried off my clothing. My dress fell to the floor in disgrace, a crumpled pile of dark blue frayed fabric.
Another woman walked in the room, this one younger.
“Melinda!” the older woman barked. “Get rid of this dress. She won’t be needing it anymore.”
I felt a surge of sadness as I watched the sales assistant pick up the dress and carry it away. The pocket was torn and the hem ragged. And yet, I had worn it the last time I’d cradled Daniel in my arms. It felt, in some way, as if I were discarding a part of him. A part of us.
“Please,” I begged. “May I keep it?”
The woman let out a dry cackle. “That old rag?”
I stared at my bare feet, trying with all my might to keep the tears from coming.
“Fortunately for you, Mr. Edwards has taken a liking to you,” the woman continued. “You can wear nicer things now.”
I closed my eyes tightly as she tugged at my undergarments. I half-listened as she measured my bust. “He typically prefers a rounder figure,” she said, staring at my breasts with a scrutinizing expression. “It would do you good to eat more.”
I grimaced as she unhooked my corset, exposing my body completely. The cold air felt cruel against my bare skin. The mirror’s reflection revealed a stomach that sagged at its center, where I’d carried Daniel just three years prior. I had birthed