Hayes had been entertaining a group of potential clients. Someone had deliberately gotten him drunk, humiliating him in front of them while he smiled through the pain, just to close the deal.
I had just come from a work event when I saw him—his face flushed, his posture stiff, his fists clenched under the table.
My heart broke for him. I wanted to take him away from that place, away from those people who saw him as nothing more than a tool to get what they wanted.
But then, they turned their attention to me.
“If Mrs. Westbrook drinks with us, we’ll sign the contract right now. Hell, we’ll even send you two home.”
I knew how much that deal meant to him. I knew how hard he’d worked for it.
So, I swallowed my pride.
I picked up the glass.
And I drank.
That night, Hayes closed the deal he’d worked so hard for.
And I lost our child.
After that, no matter how careful we tried to be, pregnancy never happened again.
Maybe it was punishment.
Maybe the universe decided I wasn’t meant to be a mother. Maybe it was for not protecting my baby when I had the chance.