Maya Banks - Colters' Lady

I don’t deserve forgiveness, but please give me your mercy.” The sun gleamed, a bright orb that hung over the horizon, creeping higher with each passing second.

The rays bathed her in warmth and yet nothing could fill the empty, aching void inside her.

“Lily, my God, what the hell are you doing out here?”

She turned to see Dillon hurrying out, Seth and Michael hot on his heels.

“You’re going to freeze to death,” Michael bit out. “You aren’t dressed, for God’s sake.” Seth knelt in front her and took her cold hands in his. “Honey, you have to come inside. Please. We need to talk about this. We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.” He went blurry in front of her as tears streaked silently down her face. He rubbed them gently away, his eyes so filled with worry that she flinched.

Without another word, without asking or demanding, he simply scooped her into his arms and carried her back toward the house. He took her into the living room, placed her on the sofa and immediately enveloped her in the warmth of a blanket.

Dillon and Michael stood a mere foot away, concern etched into their brows.

She hugged her legs to her chest and rocked back and forth, praying for the strength to tell them what she’d hidden so deep inside her heart for so long.

They deserved to know. She should have told them long before now. They might not want her after they knew the truth. She’d been too involved in the fantasy—in the utter joy and contentment she’d found in their relationship.

But it couldn’t last. The past always caught up no matter how hard or fast you ran.

Michael slid onto the couch beside her. Dillon took the other side and Seth hunkered down in front of her, his gaze imploring her to talk to them.

“I was married before,” she began in a faltering voice.

She saw the surprise in their expressions, but they remained quiet, waiting for her to continue.

“I was an art student, not far from graduation. I was different. Did my own thing. Loved painting and drawing. Didn’t pay a lot of attention to the world around me. I met Charles in my senior year. He seemed wildly attracted to me. Loved my quirks and my idiosyncrasies.” She took in a deep breath. “Before I knew it, I found myself pregnant. I was young and irresponsible.

I was scared to death to tell Charles. He was older. Had an established, well-paying job as a financial planner. I needn’t have worried. He was thrilled. He wanted to marry me, and I thought it was the right thing to do. I was half in love with him and warmed to the thought of us being a family.

“He insisted I quit school. He didn’t approve of my career choice or my desire to paint and said there was no need since he could provide for me and the baby. He wanted a housewife. The perfect wife and mother to keep up his home, cook his meals and be a companion to dinners and parties.

“I loved to cook and was too young and infatuated to balk at putting aside my art. The few times I dabbled at home, he was dismissive of my efforts and frowned upon it taking time from my real duties.”

“He sounds like a first-rate jackass,” Dillon growled.

She smiled faintly. “I had a good pregnancy until the end. I was diagnosed with preeclampsia and had to be on bed rest the last few weeks before I delivered. I was tired and worn out and worried sick that something would happen to my baby. Charles was working long hours and so I was alone a lot in the house.

“I went into labor and delivered a perfectly healthy baby girl. Rose,” she said softly. “I named her Rose because she was like a perfect bloom in the spring when the petals are so vibrant and start to unfurl.

“I had a long delivery and was exhausted. They sent me home after two days but I never seemed to catch up. It was a whole new world to me. Suddenly I didn’t just have the house and the cooking. I had this new baby who was dependent on me twenty-four, seven. I breastfed her and sometimes she ate around the clock, it seemed.

“I remember thinking if I could just have one night’s rest. Or even just a nap. Just a few hours where I could sleep that I’d be okay. That I could make it. Charles was working even longer hours. He was never at home. One night he came in at ten and I begged him to take the baby just for a few hours so I could sleep.

He told me that he had an early meeting the next morning and that since he worked and I didn’t, the baby was my responsibility.”

“Jesus Christ,” Seth muttered.

“I existed that way for eight weeks. Eight of the longest weeks of my life. I drifted from feeding to feeding, diaper change to diaper change. She didn’t sleep at night and she was fussy during the day. There were days I cried while trying to quiet her because I was so desperate and I didn’t know what to do. What kind of mother can’t even comfort her own child? I didn’t realize at the time that she was feeding off my stress and anxiety.”

Dillon’s hand slipped to her nape and massaged, offering her silent comfort.

“There was one night in particular that I didn’t sleep the entire night. She cried and fussed, and I rocked and soothed. Charles went to the downstairs guestroom so he wouldn’t be disturbed.

“The next day I was desperate for a nap. I was so happy when after I nursed her, I managed to get her to sleep in her crib. I remember staring down at her and thinking, thank you, God .

“And then I laid down on the loveseat in her nursery. I just wanted thirty minutes. Maybe an hour if she slept that long.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her throat swelled so much she could barely manage to get the words out. “I was just so tired. I needed just a few minutes. I couldn’t do it any longer. Just a few minutes .

“I woke up when Charles came in. He’d worried because he didn’t hear either of us. I was horrified at how long I’d slept and that Rose was still asleep in her crib. I remember scrambling off the couch feeling guilty because I hadn’t cooked. I hadn’t cleaned. I went over to check on Rose and she was completely still.”

“Oh God,” Michael breathed. “Oh God, Lily.”

“She was dead,” Lily choked out. “She’d been dead for at least an hour they later said. While I slept on the couch, my baby died. I killed her . Oh my God, I killed her because I wasn’t awake. I didn’t hear her.

I wasn’t there when she needed me.”

She dropped her face to her knees as sobs racked her body. They poured from her chest, tearing at her raw throat.

“He blamed me. He yelled at me. I stood there by the crib while he dialed 911, and he screamed at me the entire time that I’d let her die. How dare I go to sleep? How could I do this to our child?

“And I just stared at her, so numb, so disconnected. I couldn’t believe it. I touched her and she was cold. Her skin was already stiff. But still, I tried. I took her out and I performed CPR. I wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t accept that she was gone.

“The paramedics got there and I could tell by their faces that they knew, but I’d started CPR and they had to continue and I rode in that ambulance, knowing the whole time that she couldn’t be saved.

“Charles was so angry. He couldn’t forgive me for what I’d done. I couldn’t forgive myself. I went through the motions of her funeral. I dressed her myself. I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else touching her. I put her favorite blanket with her and her little stuffed bear that I’d brought home from the hospital.

“I remember watching, so detached as they lowered her tiny casket into the grave. Charles was so furious. He couldn’t even look at me. When we drove home, he tossed divorce papers at me and told me to sign. He wouldn’t stay married to a woman who took so little care of her child.