"Linda was married then," Patricia said, voice trembling, tears streaking her cheeks, hot against his skin. "Had two-year-old twins—Sarah and Emma. Sterling didn't want Maria there. But her labor was so close, and Linda couldn't turn her away. Not her best friend. Not when she was that pregnant and alone."
The regret in her voice was crushing, a weight that pressed down, her body shuddering, fingers twisting in the sheets.
"I should have helped," she sobbed, full-body convulsions shaking them both, tears flooding.
"I should have gone there. Should have put aside my anger and been there for my friend. But I couldn't. All I could think about was that the baby was probably Richard's. That she was pregnant with my husband's child. It consumed me. The rage. The betrayal. The humiliation."
Her hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, nails digging into fabric.
