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Back Stranger in the Lake Save as PDF
Chapters (47)
  1. Cover
  2. Back Cover Text
  3. Praise
  4. About the Author
  5. Dedication
  6. Also by Kimberly Belle
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. Acknowledgments

I can’t deny money makes things easier, just like Paul doesn’t deny he’s been paying for the upkeep on Jamie’s home. I should have known it was him and not Jax. Paul’s love language is money. What’s some electronics and a monthly landscaping bill to a man with so many millions? He has more than enough to spare.

“I want to take care of you, Charlotte. And our child. Please let me.”

“That’s not why I came.”

He shakes his head. Frowns.

There are footsteps outside in the hallway, moving closer. Sam coming to get me.

“I came because I need you to understand what it feels like to grow up like I did, under the shadow of parents who’ve done awful things. That shit leaves scars, and I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone, least of all an innocent child.”

My words hit him like a punch, and his eyes shimmer with regret, with pain. “I get it. Of course I do. And for the rest of my life, I will hate myself for what I’ve done. To you, to our baby. Our child will suffer because of me, because of the mistakes I’ve made, the wrongs I’ve done. I know I don’t deserve anyone’s forgiveness, least of all yours, but I need you to know that I’m sorry. I am so goddamn sorry.”

He breaks down then, sobbing into his hands, and I know what he wants to hear—that I accept his apology, that I understand and forgive him. That our baby will be okay, that together we will see to it.

But I can’t say any of those things. Maybe one day I’ll be able to, but not today. Not yet.

The lock chinks in the door, and I know I don’t have much time.

“Paul. Paul.” I slap a hand to the table to get his attention, waiting until he looks up from his fingers. “Years from now, when our baby is old enough to understand, I am going to tell him or her what you did, and I will use it as a lesson. To teach right from wrong, how to pick the good from the bad. And when I do, I sure would like to be able to say that, in the end, when push came to shove, your father did the right thing.”

The handle twists, the door creaking open, and I plant both hands on the table and lean in close to make sure my next words land, that he hears them and understands.

“Do the right thing here, Paul. Or I will.”

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