The Blind Box That Cost Me Everything Chapter 08

The Blind Box That Cost Me Everything Chapter 08

He didn’t leave.

He got a room at the hotel across the street and waited outside every morning for her to come out.

She never looked at him.

It rained that day.

Rain in Marlowe didn’t build. It just hit, all at once, and didn’t stop.

She walked out of the corner store under an umbrella. He was in his usual spot, drenched.

She passed him, and he spoke. “I’m pressing charges against Bianca. I filed to have the marriage annulled. The police opened a fraud investigation.”

Her pace slowed, just barely.

“I sent lawyers after your parents for the 1.88–million–dollar settlement. And I found out about Talia.”

She stopped, her back still to him. “None of that matters to me anymore.”

“It does.”

“One chance, Maren. That’s all I’m asking.”

She didn’t move.

He dropped to his knees.

His knees hit the wet pavement with a heavy thud.

Rain ran down his face. Impossible to tell what was rain and what wasn’t.

“I’m begging you.”

She turned around.

She looked down at him.

She didn’t move the umbrella over him.

She held his gaze for a long time.

“I called you more than ten times that night, Gavin.”

He knelt there, looking up at her.

“Her fever hit 104.2. They were resuscitating her in the trauma room. The nurse came out three times asking for the deposit to clear the surgical team. Eight thousand dollars.”

Her voice cracked.

“You were at Bianca’s, because her baby choked on some milk. And I was on my knees at the billing desk

with nine dollars and ninety cents.”

His shoulders started shaking.

“If you’d come. Even late. Even an hour late. She would still be alive.”

She crouched until her eyes were level with his.

Rain hit both their faces.

“Tell me, Gavin. How do you make up for that?”

His mouth moved. No sound came out.

He was shaking too hard to speak.

He wanted to say it.

He wanted to say, “I’m sorry.”

But the words were nothing. He knew it and she knew it.

He couldn’t answer her.

She stood up, lifted her umbrella, and walked away.

He stayed on his knees in the rain.

He stayed there for a very long time.

He came back.

This time he didn’t wait outside. He went straight to the apartment and knocked. Wesley’s bodyguard blocked him, but Maren’s voice came from inside. “Let him in.”

She was standing in the middle of the living room. A box sat on the coffee table.

“You wanted a chance?”

Gavin looked at the box. His breath caught.

“Mystery boxes. Every slip says either ‘I forgive you‘ or ‘I can’t forgive you.” She pushed the box toward him. “Pull ‘I forgive you, and I’ll go back with you.”

He didn’t hesitate. His hand was in the box instantly.

He ripped open the first one. [I can’t forgive you.] The second. [I can’t forgive you.]

Third. Fourth. Fifth.

[I can’t forgive you.] Every time.

He went faster. The stiff cardboard edges sliced his fingers open. Blood smeared across the slips.

He didn’t stop.

Ten. Twenty.

Shredded cardboard covered the floor. Every single slip said the same thing.

His hands were trembling by the last few.

He tore open the last one. [I can’t forgive you.]

The box was empty.

He knelt in the wreckage of paper and cardboard, blood dripping from his fingers.

He looked up at her.

She stood over him, eyes down. “Now you know how it felt. Three years of this.”

“Every month, I’d open one. Every time, I’d think: Maybe this one will be a little more. Maybe enough for a can of formula. Maybe enough for one doctor’s visit.”

“Every single time, it was nothing.”

“But I never trashed a room. I never smashed anything. I never fell apart.”

“I folded each slip, tucked it into my wallet, and kept going. Because I thought someday you’d see.”

Gavin bent forward until his forehead almost touched the ground.

“Maren…”

“You can go.”

She closed the door.

He sat outside her door all night.

At dawn, Wesley’s car pulled up.

She walked past Gavin without looking at him.