Life for rent
Foolhardy. That's what it had been – right from the start.
How could they think that two broken, battered people like the both of them might actually heal each other and form something near enough to a functional family?
She tried to recall the days after they had caught Red John – almost a year ago. Jane had been so lost and miserable – the purpose of his whole life suddenly taken from him – that without quite realizing it she had found herself kind of making a fuss over him.
Much to her surprise, Jane had seemed to appreciate the fact. Maybe over the years he had come to depend upon her more than both of them had expected.
Their marriage had been about two lonely beings seeking comfort into each other. Love had never been mentioned even once as a matter of fact.
And now there she was, expecting a baby that she actually didn't want.
She felt so bad about that. Especially since Jane looked genuinely happy about his second chance at being a father.
What a horrible person she was for rejecting her own child.
She just couldn't help reliving her unhappy childhood. The sudden loss of her mother. Her father becoming a drunkard – and a violent one too – before ending up killing himself.
Teresa couldn't bear the thought of giving birth to another creature doomed to suffer. Not to mention the fact that she was sick and tired of seeing her loved ones in pain without being able to help them.
Her father. Her brothers. Bosco. Jane.
Was all this ever going to end?
Funny how she kept on calling her own husband by his last name. He never complained about this anyway.
She had never thought that Jane could be so patient with her.
Damn, he must actually care for her. While she was scared stiff about committing herself to another human being.
It was so wrong. She was so wrong.
She just didn't know what to do about it. She…
Ouch, that was painful. She grabbed her swollen belly with both her hands.
No, not this. Not yet. She definitely wasn't ready for this to happen.
As she felt another painful contraction coming, she clutched onto the armrest of the sofa.
"Patrick", she called at last – as loud as her labored breath allowed her.