email from Bridget to Mirella. I was curious to read it because I was surprised by the sight of it since Bridget and Mirella were never great friends. My heart sank deeper and deeper as I read it.”
I wipe the table. “What was in it?”
“It was full of lies. She told her that we were happy, despite the fact that we were as miserable as ever. She told Mirella I still didn’t remember her, that I still suffered from amnesia. She told her that she’d ripped up photos of her and trashed our photo CD, which I know must have hurt Mirella. She even told her I didn’t remember my own child.”
“What child?” I ask, confused.
His gaze breaks from mine and his shoulders fall. “Bridget and I had a third child after Lizzie. A boy. His name was Jonathan. He died when he was six months old from complications from pneumonia.”
My chest constricts. I can’t imagine. I couldn’t have lived if I’d lost Ethan at six months. I don’t know what to say. “I’m so… so sorry.” All this time, I’ve thought Mr. Dark & Mysterious led such a charmed life in his beautiful penthouse. But he’s lived through as much tragedy as I have, if not more.
“I just don’t know why she had to write that letter. I’d already promised that I wouldn’t contact Mirella again. I’d promised her that chapter of my life was over. I was willing to work on our marriage. And then she goes and does something like that.”
I shake my head, not quite knowing what to say.
“I’ve always taken care of her,” he tells me. “It was never easy between us, and I wondered if she even truly loved me, or if I was just her caretaker. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
“Why did you need to take care of her?” I ask, remembering the woman in the photo, flawless. She seemed very self-sufficient and confident.
“Bridget has suffered from a serious eating disorder since she was about eleven,” he tells me. “I always made sure she took care of herself, that she didn’t relapse. She had a therapist and other support, but she also needed me.”
“That’s horrible,” I say, realizing that a picture does not reveal secrets. “Is she okay now?”
“She wasn’t when we first separated, but she’s fine now. A little slimmer than I’d like to see her, but she still sees her therapist and follows the protocols. She’s trying her best for the kids. And her boyfriend is a nice guy… he takes care of her now.”
“Yay, boyfriend,” I cheer, attempting to lighten the conversation. The evening has turned into a real bummer.
He smiles. “I’m sorry… I’m depressing you, aren’t I?”
“No… not at all,” I tell him. “I’ve actually been very curious about your past relationships and why they ended.”
He studies me for a long beat. “You’re not becoming infatuated with me, are you?” he says, his tone serious.
“Uh… no,” I lie.
He smiles. “Pity… because I’ve kind of become infatuated with you, Grasshopper.”
I laugh. “You want a donut, Mr. Boss Man?”
“I’d love one.”
I present him with the box, and let him make his choice. He opts for the plain glazed, and I choose the strawberry powder one. I know it’s going to make a mess, but that’s what’s fun about it. We bite into our donuts, as happy as small children.
He helps me clean the kitchen and we retreat to the living room. We chat about Ethan and Weston’s kids, much more upbeat topics. He steals a touch here and there, and every time he does, I want more. I want time to speed up, so we can find ourselves alone again.
He helps me with Ethan’s bath, delighting in every second of it. He tells me he misses those days, and I tell him he’s welcome to help me anytime. He wonders how I can take care of Ethan all by myself, and I remind him that I have a lot of help.
Finally, I tuck Ethan into bed. I stare for a beat. I love his big brown eyes. They’re so kind, just like his father’s were. I love his golden locks and his small cupid bow mouth. I kiss him on the forehead. “Good night, my little monkey.”
He giggles like he always does.
We’re just about to leave when he stretches out his little arms. “Sten,” he says. “Sten.”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s reaching out to Weston. “He wants a kiss from you too.”