CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4 – Zara’s POV

Antoinette and I shared a love for coffee, so I suggested we grab a cup at the coffee shop nearest to the school. She went to order our usual favorites while I found a free table.

“Are you still with that jerk, Zara?” she asked bluntly as soon as she returned with our drinks.

I let out a sigh before responding, “Yes, I'm still with Lucas Blackwood.”

Antoinette gave a sarcastic round of applause, then examined my face. I knew she was worried; she was the first one to know about the way Lucas treated me and our son.

“Tell me honestly, Zara. Are you trying to be a martyr? It's been six years since that damned wedding. I thought you'd have realized by now that living with that man is like living in hell. I feel guilty every day for what you're going through. It's my fault,” Antoinette confessed.

“Don't blame yourself, Antoinette. It was never your fault. You didn't force me into his bed that night. I was willing,” I admitted, attempting to ease my friend's guilt over my situation.

“You could ask for a divorce. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to let you go,” she suggested.

“I wish it were that simple,” I responded.

“Why isn't it?”

“I signed a contract with him, Antoinette. I can't just file for divorce. He has to be the one to initiate it, and as his wife, I can't do anything that would tarnish his reputation,” I explained. Antoinette was visibly taken aback.

“Zara, this is heartbreaking. You need to do what's best for your son. Growing up in such a tumultuous environment isn't healthy. Plus, I truly believe you'd be better off returning to your family. To your Mom and Grandpa,” she advised.

“To be honest, I've been considering it lately. I've wasted six years waiting for him to change, but it seems that's not going to happen anytime soon,” I confessed.

“You need to stop fantasizing about Lucas falling for you, Zara. You know it's not going to happen. It's been six years, and he still feels nothing for you! He never liked you from the start, and you know it's always been unrequited love on your part since our college days.”

“You're right,” I conceded, what else could I say?

“Find someone who can truly make you happy. Don't ever settle for less, Zara. Not ever again,” she advised.

“I want to get him out of my life, but I don't know how,” I confessed, sharing my struggle to let go of Lucas Blackwood.

“Reconnect with Nick. He could help you forget that damn man!”

“Nicholas Rutherford? For heaven's sake, he could be married by now!”

“Wrong. He's still single, and I believe he's still waiting for you, Zara. Come on, girl. Divorce the jerk and find happiness with Nick,” she suggested, a hint of mischief in her voice.

“He's our friend,” I reminded her.

“But he cares for you, I'm sure of it,” she countered. “If he didn't, he wouldn't have been so devastated when you married Lucas Blackwood,” she pointed out.

“Don't make assumptions, Antoinette. He was just worried about me.”

“Exactly, he was concerned when he found out about your pregnancy. But did you know he was considering adopting your child and raising it with you if that jerk hadn't married you?”

“That pathetic excuse for a wedding,” I scoffed, the memory of my wedding day still a painful one. It was the worst day of my life!

“Just give it a shot, Zara. Nick's number hasn't changed,” she suggested.

“Enough, Antoinette! I have no idea why you're so chatty today,” I protested, but she only laughed in response.

After finishing our coffee, we lingered in the coffee shop, chatting a while longer. But when Antoinette kept bringing up Nicholas Rutherford, I decided it was time to end the conversation.

Thankfully, her husband called, needing her back at the campus immediately. So, I managed to head home without any further drama and get some things done.

Then, thirty minutes before Enrique's class ended, I would return to the campus to pick him up. I once suggested to Lucas that we could use the school bus service, but he dismissed the idea, stating that my sole duty was to ensure Enrique's wellbeing.

Once home, I went to my room and sat in front of the large vanity mirror. I studied my reflection, a smirk of disappointment on my face. Dark circles marred my eyes, my lips were dry, and regular lip balm wasn't helping.

I couldn't even use skincare products freely without it sparking an argument with Lucas. Every time I tried to take care of myself, he would accuse me of having an affair. He'd say that since I forced him into marriage, I had no right to seek someone else. I should endure my time with him.

What a bastard!

Lucas never resorted to physical harm, but he knew exactly how to torture me mentally and emotionally.

Later that day, after picking up Enrique from school and instructing him to take a bath, I indulged in a relaxing bubble bath.

The next day was Saturday, so Enrique didn't have school. We made a trip to the nearest grocery store, which had become one of our cherished bonding moments during the weekend. Sometimes, I wished Lucas would make an effort to clear his schedule and spend some quality time with Enrique.

“Can I watch TV, Mom?” Enrique asked as soon as we returned home from grocery shopping.

“Of course,” I replied, instantly switching on his favorite channel - Cartoon Network. When it came to watching TV, he didn't have access to the remote control.

In fact, I was concerned he might stumble upon news about Gisele, the actress Lucas was currently seeing. Speaking of Lucas, he hadn't come home last night and mentioned he wouldn't be back for a week. He was probably touring Europe with Gisele.

We lived in a private subdivision because Lucas needed to keep his dirty secret hidden. He was so influential that he'd managed to conceal the fact that he was married with a son for six years.

“Will you be okay on your own for a bit? I'm going to the kitchen to cook your favorite meal, dear,” I told Enrique, who nodded in understanding.

I then headed to the kitchen to prepare his favorite dish - vegetables with chicken. I roasted his preferred pumpkin and gathered the ingredients for his beloved fried chicken.

In our house, Lucas wouldn't dare eat the food I cooked. He claimed it was terrible, but Enrique never had a problem with it. Lucas would always eat out or dine with his family at their home.

About an hour later, everything was ready, so I went back to the living room where Enrique was engrossed in a cartoon.

“Dinner's ready,” I told him, but he didn't react. Usually, he'd leap up from his seat to check the food with me. “Sweetheart, is something wrong?”

“I wish Daddy could be like that,” he said, pointing at the television where a father pigeon was playing with his son.

For a moment, I was captivated by the scene on the screen. I wished it could be the same for us, but it wasn't. Seeing Enrique's tear-filled eyes shattered my heart a million times over. I knew this conversation was going to be difficult. He had been asking questions about his father, and I could see the pain in his eyes.

“Mommy, why doesn't Daddy love us anymore?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

I took a deep breath, fighting back my own tears.

“Sweetheart, sometimes people make choices that hurt others, and it's not your fault,” I explained gently.

“But why did he leave us?” he persisted, his voice shaking.

I searched for the right words before replying, “Your father is just busy with work, darling.”

“But today is Saturday! Does he work on the weekends?” my son asked again, looking up at me with a puzzled expression.

“I'm not sure, sweetheart,” I answered, my voice shaky. “Sometimes, people don't consider how their actions impact others. He's just busy with work,” I lied again.

Enrique nodded, but the sadness in his eyes was unmistakable. It crushed me to see him in pain like this, but I knew I had to remain strong for him.

“I wish he was here to play with me,” he said once more.

“Shhh, remember, you have me, and I'll always be here for you,” I reassured him, pulling him into a comforting hug.

As we sat there, holding each other, I knew this was just the start of a long journey. But I also knew that no matter what, I would always be there for my son, helping him navigate the pain and confusion that came with having a neglectful father.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered.

“Am I adopted?” he asked, leaving me speechless.