Chapter 9
A sharp ache pricked Lucie's nose, and her eyes shimmered with tears. But she swallowed the ache, refusing to let herself cry. She didn't want her grandfather to
worry.
"...I'll bring Cody to visit you soon," she promised, even though the words felt hollow.
Since Cody's birth, her grandfather had barely seen the boy. Cody wasn't close to her, let alone to the old man who cherished him from afar.
Mr. Anderson let out a weary sigh. "I always hoped you'd marry young, start a family early. But I've hardly even met the child."
He leaned forward, voice gentle but insistent. "Lucie, it's time you gave Cody a little brother or sister. Remember the agreement with the Heath family? You and Steven would have two children-one with the Heath name, one with the Anderson name."
"Grandpa..." Lucie faltered, the confession burning on her tongue.
She wanted to tell him about the divorce. But when she took in his snowy hair, the deepening creases around his eyes, the stoop in his shoulders that hadn't been there before, her heart clenched.
She bit back the truth. She couldn't do that to him.
Her grandfather studied her face, eyes narrowed with concern. "What is it? Is something wrong, Lucie?"
She forced a smile, masking her pain. "No, Grandpa. I just missed you. That's all."
He shook his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "Silly girl."
"Tonight, I'm cooking for you myself," he declared proudly. "Baked fish and handmade pasta."
"Thank you, Grandpa," Lucie murmured, warmth flickering in her chest.
At dinner, Mr. Anderson bustled around the kitchen, preparing all her favorite dishes. Every time Lucie came home, he insisted on cooking the meals she'd loved as a child.
"I caught this fish at the pier this morning," he said, eyes bright. "The water was perfect for fishing. I reeled in a few fine groupers."
He pointed to the steaming platter. "And this chicken? Raised it myself, just for you. Good for your health."
Since retiring, fishing and tending his garden had become his whole world. The Anderson family's antique galleries and the Rosewood Museum, every piece of the family legacy was left in Lucie's hands. He only stepped in when she truly needed him.
"Grandpa, your cooking just keeps getting better," Lucie said, savoring each bite, doing her best to hide the storm inside her.
The divorce wasn't final yet. The truth about Cody's blood type still hung over her, heavy and unresolved.
She'd wait to tell him—just a little while longer.
...
By nine o'clock, Lucie retreated to her room, showered, and slipped into bed. Her phone sat silent on the nightstand.
Steven hadn't called. Not once, all day.
He was probably too busy with Shannon. Even now, he might not have noticed she hadn't come home.
Midnight crept in.
Her phone finally rang, the shrill sound slicing through the quiet.
Despite the anger simmering in her veins, she picked up. "Hello?"
His voice was ice. "Lucie, where are you?"
"I'm at Grandpa's," she answered steadily.
His annoyance crackled through the line. "What is this, Lucie? Another one of your tantrums?"
She exhaled, her tone cold and steady. "Steven, let's get a divorce."
A sharp pause. Then his irritation
flared hotter. "You always have to et you? Why can't, don't
blow things qut of propertion, don't ever
reasonable?"
"Every time Shannon comes over, you lose your temper. Can't you even tolerate her?"
Lucie ignored the dig. She needed answers, not another fight. "Steven, I want to
ask you something. What's Cody's blood type?"
"You told me he was type O. Are you sure about that?"
The line went dead silent. For a moment, Steven didn't say a word.
Back when Cody was born, Steven had brought in a whole team of childcare experts. The moment their son arrived, he was swept away by strangers in crisp up forms. Cucie had barely held him in her arms.
Yesterday, on a whim, she'd stopped by the hospital, and stumbled onto the truth.
She pressed on, voice low and
urgent. "And tell me honestly. Were
you and Shannon really just friends?
You alway
called her your sister,
but she was your first love, wasn't she?"