Chapter 3
A private tutor hired during Serena’s illness had struck him when lessons went badly. Leonardo had discovered it months later and removed the man immediately, but one sentence had remained lodged inside Theo’s mind.
The tutor had repeatedly told him Serena became sick because difficult children exhausted their mothers.
Theo looked at Abigail through tears.
“Did I kill her?”
Abigail’s heart broke.
“No.”
“He said—”
“He lied.”
“What if—”
“Theo.”
She held out her hands.
“Your mother fought to stay alive because she loved you. Her body became sick. Your love did not make her sick, and your mistakes did not make her die.”
Theo began crying.
After a moment, he crossed the kitchen and fell against Abigail.
She held him.
Leonardo stood outside the doorway.
He had come home early.
Neither of them saw him.
For three years Leonardo had believed protection meant locked gates, guarded cars, private schools, physicians, money, and control.
He had never understood that a child could be surrounded by security and still feel completely unsafe.
That evening, Leonardo found Abigail rolling pie dough.
“You knew what to say to him.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I knew what he needed to hear.”
Leonardo leaned against the counter.
“There’s a difference?”
“A big one.”
He watched her work.
“What do you need to hear?”
Abigail stopped rolling.
The question surprised her.
“Nobody usually asks.”
“I’m asking.”
She looked toward the dark kitchen window.
“That I don’t have to prove I’m useful every minute just to deserve a place somewhere.”
Leonardo said nothing for several seconds.
Then he nodded.
“You don’t.”
She looked at him.
Something passed between them that had not been included in any marriage agreement.
Neither mentioned it.
Later that night, Abigail brought coffee to Leonardo’s office.
Documents covered his desk.
One thick contract was open beside him.
She recognized the name on the first page.
Sloan Capital Partners.
“That’s the debt you mentioned.”
Leonardo leaned back.
“Three hundred million dollars.”
Abigail frowned.
“You borrowed three hundred?”
“After Serena died. I neglected parts of the business while she was sick. Hotels were losing money. Freight contracts disappeared. Everett Sloan offered emergency financing.”
“And now?”
“According to him, I owe almost six hundred million.”
Abigail stared at him.
“After making payments?”
“For nearly three years.”
“How much?”
“About one hundred eighty million.”
She stopped.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“The interest is aggressive.”
“Interest isn’t magic.”
May you like
She pulled the contract closer.
For twenty minutes she said almost nothing.
