What the Sea Could Not Keep

When Vivienne Mayne saw me, she gave me a helpless smile. There was not the slightest embarrassment of being exposed.

She invited me in with the ease of a hostess and told the housekeeper to bring me a cup of warm milk.

"Nora, you are pregnant. Tap water is not good for you."

I looked straight into her eyes and asked calmly, "How long?"

Vivienne smiled, then slowly pushed a marriage certificate across the table.

The registration date was May 21, eight years ago.

My head rang. My scalp went numb.

That night, Robert Blackwell booked a whole pack of drones over Harbor City and confessed his love to me in the most public way possible. We kissed beneath fireworks bright enough to shake the whole city.

On that very same day, he took Vivienne Mayne to the courthouse and became her legal husband.

I stared blankly at that certificate and laughed at myself. A suffocating pain pressed into my chest.

Vivienne sighed as if she pitied me.

"Nora, do not blame me.

"I have known about you and Robert for a long time.

"Think about it. Without my permission, how could you have stayed safely by his side for seven years?

"How could you have gone from a poor student who could not even afford bread to a woman covered in diamonds?"

She gave a soft laugh. There was open contempt at the corner of her mouth.

"You should be thanking me."

It felt as if something were lodged in my throat. I wiped the corner of my eye and asked in a trembling voice, "If you knew eight years ago, why did you not tell me?

"Watching me plan wedding after wedding with joy, only to have each one fall apart. Did that make you proud?"

Vivienne raised an eyebrow and scoffed.

"Tell you? Why would I tell you?

"In circles like ours, what wealthy man does not keep a woman outside his marriage?

"If Robert was going to find someone, it was better for him to go to you than some stranger."

She looked at me from the corner of her eye, her lips curving slightly.

"At least you were obedient. Easy to control. You knew your place."

Every word was a knife, stabbing into my heart and twisting.

Fifteen years ago, Vivienne Mayne had been the only light in the darkness of my life.

Back then, I was too poor to feed myself that I was trying to find something to eat from a trash bin in the school cafeteria. The other students poured leftovers on me and laughed.

She was the one who chased them away and gave me the chicken leg from her plate.

"Nora, from now on, you are with me.

"If anyone dares call you a bastard again, I will tear their mouth open."

Now, with that same tone, Vivienne called me a kept woman.

In a burst of anger, I grabbed the glass on the table and hurled it at her.

Robert rushed forward and shielded Vivienne with his body. The glass struck his forehead, and bright red blood seeped out.

He frowned and looked at me with reproach.

But when his gaze fell on my swollen belly, his expression softened.

He coaxed me gently. "Nora, you are carrying a baby. You cannot get worked up.

"Give birth safely first, and I will make up the wedding to you right away."

He pulled me tightly into his arms.

"We can let the child recognize Vivienne as a godmother. That will silence the gossip. I promise you and the baby will never want for anything."

His embrace was warm, but I felt as if I had fallen into ice.

For a few seconds, I could not move. Then I shoved Robert away and slapped him hard across the face.

His head turned from the force. His eyes filled with disbelief.

Holding my belly, I broke down and shouted, "Robert Blackwell, what gives you the right to do this? What do you think I am?"

His patience vanished. His face darkened, and he growled, "What right do you have to accuse me?

"Was your father any different?"

I froze. Even my pupils trembled.

"He cheated on your mother and lied to her.

"He got your mother pregnant before marriage, had her give birth to you, then beat her until she ran away.

"You were called a bastard since you were little. I was the one who pulled you out of the mud."

He spoke as if he were righteous.

He knew better than anyone that my family was the wound I could least bear to touch.

Those childhood days when my father beat me with liquor bottles, when neighbors pointed at me and called me a bastard, were nightmares I had spent decades crawling out of.

Robert had once helped me stitch those wounds shut.

Now he ripped the stitches open and poured salt into the exposed flesh.

My heart went cold. In the softest voice, I said with complete certainty, "If you will not divorce her, then we are over."