Chapter 17
The days following the revelation of my pregnancy were a cascade of joy.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I could finally breathe. With Quentin locked away, the shadows of my past had lifted, and I was free to dream of a future with Wesley.
Every morning, Wesley would rise before me to ensure I had breakfast ready, filling the house with fresh blooms. His protective demeanor was almost comical.
“Do you need water? Are you comfortable? Should I get you another pillow?” he’d ask, his brows furrowed with concern.
I’d laugh, shaking my head. “Wesley, I’m fine. I’m pregnant, not fragile.”
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Truth be told, I secretly cherished his fussing.
Yet, Quentin remained unwilling to let go.
Letters began arriving at the estate, each pleading for a meeting.
“Iris, I need to talk to you. Please. Can we at least meet? Forgive me.”
I tore each one apart without reading further.
When letters failed, he reached out through mutual acquaintances.
“Congratulations on the baby” one message
read.
Another implored, “I know you hate me, but maybe we could meet. I miss you.”
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Each message stirred a storm of anger in me. What could he possibly want? I’d made it clear he was no part of my future. I dismissed the messages outright, discarding them without a second thought.
Through it all, Wesley was my steadfast ally. He ensured I was never alone, expertly juggling his business responsibilities with taking care of me.
When night descended, bringing with it the ghosts of past traumas, he would cradle me gently, whispering reassurances until I drifted into sleep.
“You’re safe,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
And he always did.
At one of my doctor’s appointments, we
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finally received the momentous news.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced, smiling as she pointed to the screen.
I turned to Wesley, tears brimming in my
eyes.
“A boy,” I murmured.
Wesley beamed, gripping my hand tightly. “We’re having a son.”
The rest of the day floated by in a bubble of joy, filled with discussions of names and musings on our baby’s appearance. Wesley was convinced he’d resemble me, while I teased that he’d inherit Wesley’s stubbornness.
The following weekend, we ventured out to shop for baby clothes.
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The mall was buzzing with activity, families, and couples filling the air with laughter. For the first time in ages, I felt a sense of normalcy.
As we browsed through tiny onesies and baby shoes, we laughed at Wesley’s exaggerated expressions while he held up outfits.
“This one,” he declared, holding up a tiny blue shirt emblazoned with Mommy’s Little Hero.
I chuckled. “You’re going to spoil him, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Wesley answered without a hint of hesitation.
Lost in our happiness, I failed to notice the man lurking behind until it was too late.
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A hand gripped my arm, yanking me back with such force that I stumbled.
“Don’t scream,” a voice hissed in my ear as I was dragged to a corner of the store.
“Iris!” Wesley’s voice cut through my panic, but the man tightened his hold on me.
“Stay back!” the man shouted, brandishing a gun wildly.
Everything blurred–the frantic shouts, footsteps as people scattered.
“Let her go,” Wesley urged, his voice steady.
“Stay back!” the man screamed again, his hand trembling as he pointed the gun at Wesley.
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My heart pounded in my ears, breaths coming in rapid, shallow gasps.
Then, unexpectedly, a deafening bang shattered the tension.
The echo of gunfire resonated through the store as the man’s grip on me slackened, and he staggered back. Wesley leaped into action, tackling him and wrenching the gun
away.
“Run!” Wesley shouted, but my legs refused
to move.
Another shot rang out, and I flinched, instinctively ducking.
By the time I regained my senses, Wesley had subdued the man, pinning him as security swarmed in.
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But relief was fleeting.
As I stood there, trembling, a wetness trickled down my leg.
I looked down, my breath hitching.
Blood.
“Wesley,” I whispered, panic clawing at my chest.
His eyes widened as he turned to see the blood.
“No,” he murmured, his voice cracking as he rushed to my side.
I tried to speak, to assure him I was okay, but the words failed me. My vision blurred, and the last image I saw was Wesley’s stricken face as I collapsed into his arms.
