Eight Years of Maybe One Day of I Do—Bride Swapped Deal With It novel Chapter 70

Chapter 9

I’d just left the funeral home that day.

Tessa blocked my car.

She looked nothing like her old polished self. Greasy hair, sallow skin, designer coat covered in dried paint stains.

“Sloane… I mean, Ms. Mercer.”

She clung to my car window.

“Please. Just say something for me online.”

“I’m not asking for much. Just post something saying… saying you forgive me. That this wasn’t my fault.”

“I can’t find work anywhere. I owe huge penalties. My landlord kicked me out… I can’t survive like this.”

She sobbed with snot and tears streaming down her face.

“I know I messed up posting that video.”

“But I don’t deserve to lose everything! Brett killed the baby, not me! I just wanted to see a concert!”

Even now, she was still deflecting blame.

Looking at her pathetic state, I realized how stupid I’d been to let her words give me a heart attack back then.

“Tessa, do you know what karma is?” I stared at her coldly.

“Your ‘just wanting to see a concert’ cost a human life.”

“When you enjoyed those privileges, did you ever think about whose pain made them possible?”

“You say you can’t survive?”

I gestured to the black urn in my arms.

“My baby never even got the chance to live once.”

“Live with it. You’ve got a long life ahead of you.”

I rolled up the window and hit the gas.

In the rearview mirror, Tessa collapsed on the ground like a puddle of filth.

Later I heard she couldn’t pay her penalties and became a deadbeat debtor.

To avoid collectors, she started working at sketchy bars serving drinks.

One time, she ran into some rich kid she used to know.

He humiliated her publicly, made her bark like a dog, poured alcohol over her head.

used to look down on.

A year later.

I moved back to my small hometown and opened a flower shop.

Life moved slowly here. Nobody knew me or my tragic past.

My days were quiet and peaceful.

Until one day, a special customer came into the shop.

An elderly woman in a wheelchair, hair completely white.

It was Brett’s mother.

Pushing her wheelchair was Brett himself, just released from prison.

He’d gotten out early for good behavior and showing remorse.

But he wasn’t that confident captain anymore.

His back was hunched, hair half-gray, face covered in ugly scars.

Inmates hate men who hurt their wives and kids.

Especially after they found out he’d caused his own baby’s death for a side chick-his time inside had been hell.

Brett stood outside the shop entrance, not daring to come in.

He just watched me through the glass.

His mother reached into her coat with trembling hands and pulled out a dirty cloth bundle, placing it on the counter.

Inside was a pair of baby shoes.

The stitching was crooked and uneven.

“Sloane…” The old woman’s tears fell before she could speak.

“I made these at home… My grandson is gone, but these shoes… I wanted to burn them for him.”

“I know my son wronged you terribly. I have no right to ask forgiveness.”

“But he… he’s paid for what he did.”

“Since he got out two weeks ago. he has nightmares ovoru night

But only briefly.

I didn’t take them.

“Ma’am, please take them back.”

My tone was flat, like I was talking to a stranger.

The baby is at peace. He doesn’t need these.”

Brett’s body shuddered violently.

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