Sinner (Shelter Harbor #1)(131)

I swallow quickly, gulping in air and suddenly sitting up.

David.

“Hi,” I say icily, feeling my heart slamming against my chest.

“So how’d Denv-”

“What do you want, David.”

What did you ever want?

Someone else, that’s what. Someone and something else that I couldn’t give him - something he knew I couldn’t give him from the start.

All I remember about that day is the pain.

I was thirteen, in the seventh grade, and it’d been going on for a week. I’d assumed it was bad cramps, since I’d started getting my period the summer before. My dad thought the same thing, and while he’d always been amazing when it came to that stuff - buying me my first pads, calling the wife of a friend of his to talk me through tampons, never being weird about anything - there were just things he didn’t know about.

I’d been in the middle of my American History class when the pain had come roaring up like a hot knife in my abdomen. I remember screaming, and doubling over in my chair as the tears came burning down my cheeks. I remember the school nurse taking one look at me and calling the ambulance.

A ruptured appendix - not period cramps.

I remember crying, and feeling terrified, even with my dad standing over me in my hospital gurney and stroking my hair, telling me he was so sorry and that it was all going be okay.

And it was. Mostly.

I was fine, but it was the gynecological specialist later that sat me down and told me in a quiet voice about something I’d never heard of called endometriosis - scarring of the fallopian tubes. And at first, I remember being excited that it meant I wouldn’t have to have my period anymore. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

What I wouldn’t have, is children.

Ever.

That “something” David was looking for was a family, and he’s got one now.

Without me.

He sighs over the phone, pausing for a second before clearing his throat. “I just wanted to call and see how you’re doing, babe.”

“Don’t call me that.” My voice catches in my throat. “Actually don’t call me anything. Don’t call at all, okay?”

I start to pull the phone away from my ear.

“Serena, wait, please.”

I close my eyes tight, shaking my head and hating myself for bringing the phone back to my ear.

“What do you want,” I say quietly.

“I-” David sighs. “I miss you, honey.”

Something crumples inside of me as I bring my knees up to my chest, feeling deflated but knowing the hook’s already in. This is me swallowing the line, like I always did after every fight, and after every time he walked out.

The line I would have kept swallowing if he hadn’t flat out told me that night a year ago about Lisa. Lisa, his coworker. The Lisa who I’d met before. The Lisa who’d been to our house before.

The Lisa who he was leaving me for, and the Lisa he now has a kid with.

“No, you don’t,” I say through clenched teeth, still squeezing my eyes shut.

“I do, or I wouldn’t be calling like this.”

“Does she know you’re calling me?”

There’s a long pause.

“David-”

“No. No, she doesn’t.”

I can feel my stomach sinking as the familiar hook burrows deeper.

“Things aren’t what I thought they’d be, Serena,” he says evenly. “This whole thing… I think I got caught up in something I wasn’t ready for. This whole thing spiraled way out-”

“This whole thing was you leaving me for her, David!” I spit out.

A deal breaker. That’s what he’d called my infertility. A deal breaker.

“It’s not what I thought it’d be, babe,” he says quietly.

I bark out a bitter laugh.

“It should have been with you, Serena.”

I choke out another laugh, blinking away the hot tears and staring at the hotel room wall.

“Fuck you,” I whisper, shaking my head slowly. “Fuck you, David.”

“I deserve that.”

“Goddamn right you do.”

“We were really great, weren’t we?”

I’m spinning out as the hook slices deep, his poisonous words sinking in and taking hold of me like they always did - pulling me into his web of bullshit like it did for years.

“I’m thinking about leaving Lisa, Serena.” His voice is so heavy with emotion, it’s almost moving until I realize what he’s saying.

“What?”

“For you, baby. This isn’t what I thought it would be, and I want to come back. I want to make things right with you.”

He’s pulled too hard, too fast. The fishing line snaps and I slip free of the hook.

“What?!” I hiss.