Settling back in her own seat, she continued abruptly, “I woke up in the hospital to learn that not only had I lost my baby, but due to complications, I’d never be able to carry another.”
“Mary,” Dante said, sounding pained.
“Drive,” she instructed, and continued, “Joe was crushed that I’d killed our child with—as he put it—my foolish hysterics.”
“Bastard,” Dante breathed.
“Yes well, I didn’t see that at the time. I was so awash in guilt for killing my baby, I agreed with him. I never should have gone there. I should not have driven so recklessly.”
“The private investigator should not have given you the address. He should have taken pictures and presented those to you. Was he even licensed?” Dante demanded furiously.
Mary grimaced and shrugged. “Who knows? I found him in the phone book.”
“So your husband cheated on you, then made you feel responsible for what followed . . . presumably so that you would not leave him?”
“That seems likely,” she agreed, and then added, “And I let him.”
“What?” he asked with disbelief. “You are going to take responsibility for his—”
“No,” she interrupted quietly. “I am not responsible for what he did. But I am responsible for my decisions, and I—” She paused then sighed. “It was a bad time for me. My mother was dying of cancer; I’d just lost my baby and learned I would never have another. I felt anger, guilt, loss . . . I was a mess,” she acknowledged. “And I was scared.”
“Of what?” he asked with a frown, glancing toward her again.
Mary bit her lip, and then sighed and said, “Joe and I met in high school. I was in grade nine and he was in grade twelve when we started to date. He graduated and went on to further his education, but we continued to date. He proposed to me on my prom night.” She smiled wryly and said, “It was all terribly romantic. He’d already graduated from the University of Winnipeg with his degree a few months before and had got a good job with a big local company. He was making money and spared no expense that night. He rented a limo, brought me roses, took me to dinner at the finest restaurant and got down on one knee right there in front of everyone to propose.” She smiled faintly at the memory. “I didn’t even care about the prom after that, but he insisted I’d regret it if I didn’t go, so we went to prom and I showed off my ring to everyone.”
Sighing, she shrugged those memories away. “Anyway, I’d kind of planned on going on to get some kind of degree too, but hadn’t really settled on anything yet and he said he didn’t think I should. That I didn’t need to waste our money on that. I’d be his wife, the mother of his children, a housewife.”
“Dependent on him,” Dante said quietly.
“I didn’t see it that way,” Mary said sadly. “Or maybe I did and didn’t care. I thought we’d be together forever and live happily ever after. So if he wanted me to be a housewife, I’d be the best housewife there was.”
Dante grunted. She didn’t know what the sound meant, so continued.
“We got married, and quickly got pregnant and . . .”
“You caught him cheating,” Dante said grimly.
Mary nodded, and picked up her coffee. “I could have left him then, but I was scared. I’d gone straight from my parents taking care of me to Joe taking care of me . . . at least, financially. And I did feel guilty about crashing the car and killing my child. On top of that, I couldn’t have babies anymore. Who would want me for a wife when I was so useless?”
“Me,” Dante growled. “And you are not useless.”
“No I’m not,” she agreed quietly. “But I didn’t see that then.”
Mary took another sip of coffee before continuing. “Of course, after his first outburst, Joe was very sweet. He was constantly at my bedside until I was released from the hospital, then took care of me at home.”
“Guilt,” Dante said shortly. “And he should have felt guilty.”
Mary just smiled wryly and went on, “He apologized for his affair with his secretary. Promised to have her transferred to work for someone else and swore it would never happen again. He said he could live with not having biological children so long as he had me. We’d adopt, or use a surrogate, whatever it took to make me happy. So, I said I forgave him and stayed.”
“But I didn’t really,” Mary admitted in the next breath, and explained, “Forgive him, I mean. I was angry for a lot of years.” She grimaced. “We pretended all was well, and set about adopting children. A little boy first, and then a little girl. But things were not all right. I couldn’t bear him touching me. I could hardly look at him. I know he had other affairs then, he warned me he would if I didn’t stop treating him like a leper, but I didn’t care. I was angry, at myself and at him, so I punished us both for it.”