Resent, Reject, Regret

Chapter 1 That Child Has to Go

trembling finger. She looked down, eyes staring. She really wanted to keep the child. However, as her mind furiously searched for a plan, the man in question called her before any ideas could take form. Deirdre balked a little, but she ultimately answered the phone. The voice that reverberated from the other side was a low, baritone grumble. “Done? Get back here. Now.” Brendan’s patience was notoriously minimal. She was only allowed to leave his sight for an unforgiving 30-minute window. The journey back home was a nerve-wracking one, and by the time Deirdre arrived at the manor’s living room, Brendan was on his way down from the second floor. He had just left the house’s restricted area. Brendan Brighthall was wearing silky pajamas today, and his undone collar exposed his chiseled chest in all its magnificence. He’d had time to groom his hair into a slicked-back hairdo, and his facial features were unforgettably and arrestingly handsome. It was his physical perfection—a kind of beauty that could only be found in one out of a million men—that had captured Deirdre’s heart six years ago. She had been bewitched into becoming his unloved, long-suffering wife for two years.  A cigarette rested between Brendan’s fingers, and a thick stench wafted about him and invaded Deirdre’s nose. It reminded her sharply that she was now pregnant, so she instinctively held her breath. Then, she heard him ask, “What did the report say?” Deirdre held her breath even harder so that not even a sigh would escape. She hoped against hope that she could fool him. “I-It’s all good! Yep. No p-problem at all.” “Then explain your vomiting spree back in the family mansion.” “Gastric problems!” Deirdre pressed her lips, determined to avoid his black, unfathomable eyes. “I-Irregular eating schedule, you know? It’s, uh, something I’m used to having…” The air thickened around them, and the silence was grotesque. The man seemed to have cast his eyes on her, as his gaze was burning her from above the stairs. Deirdre bit her lip and clenched her hands in a panic. Just as she thought her jig was up, Brendan walked past her and headed to the couch. “Lunch. I’m hungry.” Deirdre was stunned. Relief dawned upon her in small but tangible doses, and she dashed into the kitchen. She had always been good at cooking. Her meals contributed a lot to the scarce peace that existed between the two of them outside of their monthly gatherings at the family mansion. Brendan adored her cooking enough that he sometimes came here just to help himself to it. Still, the biggest reason he ever showed up here