Always Dakota - Debbie Macomber [121]
“Sheryl,” he said as gently as he could. “There is no us. I’m married to Margaret. All you and I share is Hailey. I was hoping we could both remain adult about this…I realize the situation’s difficult, but—”
“You’re damn straight it is.”
“If you want to blame me, then go ahead. I accept full responsibility…”
“Of course I blame you,” she yelled. “You’re an idiot. Don’t you get it, you could have had me and Margaret’s money? We were good together.”
Matt’s heart sank. Sheryl simply didn’t understand. More than that, she refused to understand. He loved his wife. Marrying Margaret was the smartest thing he’d ever done, and to his dying day, he’d be grateful that she chose to love him.
Sheryl started to sob and covered her face with both hands. “Now look what you’ve done.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Don’t apologize. You’re worthless, you know. Worthless.”
He stood, still patting the baby’s back. It was time he left. Sheryl was in danger of exploding and his own patience was limited. Visiting his daughter shouldn’t include having insults hurtled at him, and he wondered if this would be the norm. He supposed he should get in touch with his attorney, see what they could figure out. What kind of agreement or—
“Make her stop crying!” Sheryl shouted.
Matt wrapped his arm protectively around the newborn and rocked her from side to side, hoping that would work.
“Shut up!” Sheryl screamed at the baby and placed her hands over her ears. Whirling around, she glared at Matt. “This is all your fault.”
“Fine, it’s my fault, but screaming at a baby isn’t going to help.”
“Get out of here,” she said, pointing at the door. “I want you out of my home.”
He hesitated. Clearly, Sheryl was distraught, but there was little he could do. He carried the baby to the bedroom and lovingly settled her inside the crib. It was hard to turn his back on his daughter, especially when she was crying like this, but he had no choice.
“Get out of my home.” Sheryl had apparently regained some of her composure. Tears glittered in her eyes, and he could recognize another emotion there, one that sent chills racing down his backbone. Hate.
“Sheryl,” he said, determined to try one last time. “I told you before—and I meant it—if you want to blame me, do. But if the day ever comes when you feel you can’t deal with the stress of the baby, call me. Margaret and I will raise Hailey.”
“Now you want my daughter, too?”
“Only if she becomes too much for you.”
Sheryl crossed her arms and stared at him with hatred gleaming from her eyes. “I’ll rot in hell before I give you my child. Go home to your precious Margaret and may you both get what you so richly deserve.”
Calla paced the waiting area outside the emergency room. She hadn’t seen her mother in over an hour and each attempt to glean information had met with failure. She tried to sit and calm herself, but that didn’t work for more than a few minutes. When she couldn’t stand it any longer she bolted to her feet again and continued to wear a path in the floor.
Worries crowded her mind. With those worries came regrets. The last thing Calla saw before the elevator doors slid shut was the look of pain on her mother’s face, mingled with a terrible fear. Although Calla knew little about pregnancy and birth, she understood that seven and a half months was too early. A premature birth would probably cause complications, especially since the pregnancy had already been difficult.
Before they’d taken her mother away, Calla had spilled out her heart. She hadn’t intended to feel a thing for this baby. Dennis’s baby. But she did. During the time her mother had undergone bed rest, Calla had spent a number of afternoons with her. Sarah had let Calla touch her stomach to feel the baby’s movements. At first she hadn’t been able to detect anything. But later, when she had, she’d felt a sense of genuine excitement.
Just then the hospital door burst open and Dennis rushed inside. He looked like a man possessed as he raced to the admissions desk. “My wife’s here. Her name is Sarah…Sarah