Eight Years Wasted She Chose Him the Night Before Our Wedding

But she didn't believe me.

"Wilfred, you have no idea how disappointed I am in you! Do you have any idea what your little shove did? You didn't just kill my baby with Graham—you may have ruined his chances of ever having children again!"

"He was generous enough not to press charges. All he asked for was an apology. What more do you want?"

"You took away his chance to be a father, so even if it kills me, I'm going to give him what he deserves! I'll marry you when I've given him a child. You owe him that much! Consider it compensation for selling off my company shares behind my back!"

Carrie—the woman who had always put her career above everything—had just ranked her thirty percent stake below Graham Simmons.

That was how deeply she loved him.

I laughed until tears blurred my vision, and finally managed three words:

"I'm sorry."

Carrie let go of me and helped me to my feet. Her expression was unreadable.

"I can't have you causing more trouble, so you'll have to bear with what comes next."

"And the miscarriage—you're not to breathe a word of it to anyone."

It wasn't until I was locked inside a disused storage room in the hospital that I understood what she meant by bear with it.

She left to hold her wedding with Graham.

I pounded on the door and screamed until a janitor finally heard the commotion and let me out.

I checked the time. My flight was about to depart.

I hailed a cab and raced to the airport.

As I was boarding, Isabella called.

"Wilfred, where are you? Carrie's saying you ran out on the wedding! And that she's marrying Graham?"

Before I could answer, she caught the sound of the flight attendant announcing boarding information in the background.

"Wilfred, you're at the airport? Today is your wedding with Carrie—where are you going?"

"It's her wedding with Graham, not mine. It has nothing to do with me."

Isabella didn't even bother hanging up before turning on Carrie, demanding to know if she'd been mistreating me.

Carrie's voice rang out loud and clear:

"Mom, I'm carrying Graham's baby. You're going to be a grandmother soon."

I'd expected Isabella—who had been longing for a grandchild for years—to be thrilled by the news.

Instead, her voice exploded through the phone:

"Bullshit! That boy's been a eunuch since he was a kid! How the hell could you be carrying his child?"