A Wedding Night Gone Terribly Wrong novel Chapter 11

It took Arthur a long time to fiddle with the phone before finally getting through to Holden. When the phone was slipped through the gap, Winifred grabbed it with trembling hands. Reception in the dark room was terrible. She dropped to the floor, squeezing her right arm through the small opening and pressing her ear against the splintered wood to listen. The rough edges dug into her cheek. It hurt. She gasped, breathing through her teeth to endure the pain. Finally, Holden's voice came through the line.

"Have you made up your mind?" he asked immediately.

Hearing that familiar voice and feeling the sharp splinters against her skin brought tears to her eyes. "Holden, why haven't you come to see me? It's been seventeen days. So much has changed. Holden, I'm preg—"

Suddenly, Iris's laughter chimed into the call. "Holden, come here!" The woman was flirting, her voice practically soaring with joy.

The ground shifted. The world tilted. A sudden, violent gust of wind seemed to blow out the last flicker of light in Winifred's heart. Despair crawled over her like wild vines, wrapping tightly around her chest and crushing her heart until the blind devotion inside her simply died. Her obsession with Holden finally withered away. There were regrets about this relationship, but no remorse. Looking back at the torment of the past twenty days—three days of chaos and seventeen of isolation—she had suffered endlessly. But... it was worth it. Walking through hell had burned away her love for him. She had finally pulled the poison named Holden Lockwood from her veins. She was free.

She didn't blame him anymore. But she didn't love him, either.

Early the next morning, Gus unlocked the door. Light poured in. A divorce agreement sat quietly on a small plastic stool in the corner.

Winifred picked up the pen to sign. She thought she had built an impenetrable fortress around her heart overnight, ready to face this final goodbye. But the tears betrayed her, spilling over her lashes and dropping onto the tip of the pen. The ink blurred, dampening the paper. She shifted the pen and started over.

Winifred Shultz.

October 2nd.

She handed the papers to the waiting bodyguard, and the door clicked shut once more.

Fine. She would give him exactly what he wanted. She wouldn't even keep the children she was carrying.

She would cut ties completely!

Winifred grabbed the handle of the canvas suitcase and walked out through the small back gate usually reserved for walking the dogs. The moment she stepped over the threshold, the bodyguard locked it behind her. Out on the paved path, the freezing drizzle matted her dirty, unwashed hair to her face, stinging her eyes. She walked a bit, stopped to wipe her face, and kept going.

Emerging from the luxurious Crest Drive neighborhood, she spotted a passing taxi. She waved her arms frantically. "Hey! Hey, wait!"

The car slowed down, hesitating. It rolled a few yards past her before the driver stuck his head out the window to get a better look. Winifred hauled her suitcase up and sprinted toward it. But just as she reached the door, she met the driver's alarmed gaze.