A/N: Thanks so much for sticking with me. If you've been reading my other fanfics, you'll know that I've had computer troubles. So it's been a very big challenge to get my stories back together let alone posted. I appreciate the reviews and the encouragement to continue. Please don't fear -- I am in reality a HUGE W/J Shipper! For now, though, I hope you enjoy the story.
Chapter 4 - Laboring
There's nothing like the pains of labor to make you realize how much you hate someone. And there's nothing like the sight of a newborn to make you realize how much you love that someone.
Before the birth of my son, things had been strange. Now, he was the one thing that kept me fueled with hope for something better. Once the memories had come back - of who I was, how I'd gotten here and - most importantly - of my condition, I had tried to concentrate on regaining my strength and my health. Every day had brought the possibility - and often reality - of morning sickness. Well, morning-afternoon-and-night sickness, in my case. I had plodded through the remainder of my pregnancy reliving any pleasant childhood memories I could capture - sparse though they were - and dreaming of him.
Every once in a while, the sky would be a clear blue and I could see his crystal eyes staring into mine, filled with passion, desire…Not love. He loved her. And it was on those days that I would think about Jordan and wonder what she was doing. Wonder if she had finally stopped running. If his body was arching against hers….Well, I just couldn't go there. It was bitter. I hoped and prayed that she had done something stupid - as she was often wont to do - and had finally gotten herself in a jam nobody could rescue her from.
Even though I was upset about the relationship that was obvious between Woody and Jordan, I never imagined that I would go totally off the deep end. But now here I was, plotting and planning….and enjoying every minute of it, the anticipation of Jordan's face wreathed in horror goading me, driving me on and on in my madness.
It was not that I wanted to hate her, really….I just…did. With a passion that surprised me. I would go to sleep at night, dreaming of Woody's arms around me, and then suddenly he was holding her, making love to her, and I was standing there watching them together….I think that's what put me over the edge. Because when he'd called out her name, that's what flashed through my mind.
Maybe it was hormones? Maybe just that ancient green-eyed monster - jealousy - ripping through my heart and through my mind at every turn. It was hard not to think of them, when here I was, very pregnant at that time, sitting alone in my room or at dinner or on the porch. Maybe it was some deep-seated maternal instinct, my wanting to give my child everything that he or she deserved.
There was one intern here who reminded me of him…The same build, the same dark hair…But I had been disappointed to find that his eyes were not crystalline at all, but a dull mottled brown. I had been close to leaving when the uppity doctor decided to keep me until the baby was born, to be sure I took care of myself. But after that, I was to be practically turned out onto the streets, so what was the sense in that? I had always enjoyed the privileges associated with money, so feeling out of control of my life - and poor and needy on top of that - was just one more thing that I attributed to her and that fueled the passion with which I vowed revenge.
But now - now my son was born. After hours of laborious - well, labor. Michael Jeremy Hoyt. With the birth of my son, more of my memories came back. The doctor was almost giddy with relief that there was a possibility that I had someone somewhere to care for me and the child. And I remembered the Cayman account that my ex had set up for us before he became totally unreasonable…Henri would probably be surprised to know that he was about to be robbed by a "dead woman", but I didn't have anywhere else to turn…Not if I wanted my revenge. I needed Woody - and there was only one way to get him. And get him I would. I refused to think of anything else in those lucid moments when Michael was not occupying my full attention. I had to find a way to make things right. Michael was entitled to know his father, to have the love that I had never known from my own parents.
Oh, I suppose they had loved me, in their rich, spoiled way. I was more like a trifle, though - a little girl who was pushed to be the best at everything so they could show her off as a trophy to their friends, discuss how perfect she was at dinner parties while she sat home alone with the nanny or the housekeeper. Michael had my love, my full heart - at least, the part that was not already his father's. I could not forget my plans. I could not put them on hold much longer. Michael needed Woody. I needed Woody. And I knew I would never get him - not wholeheartedly - until she was gone.
Gone in every way possible. I would drive her insane, at first. Make her think she was following in her mother's footsteps. Then I would lure her out of her safety zone and push her totally over the edge. So that it would be death by her own hand. And I would be free from her at last.