How could she go through with this?
She thought about her parents, of her father wilting away in his wheelchair. Of her mother, burdened with his care.
How could she not?
* * *
On Monday morning, at work, she got a call to see Burton in his office. She smoothed her white coat with trembling hands and knocked on the door to his inner sanctuary.
“Come in,” he answered, his muted voice sending a shiver down her spine.
“You asked to see me?” she said, as she stepped inside.
Burton had his back to her, surveying the impeccably landscaped grounds outside. Slowly he turned. Shanal looked at him and felt her skin crawl. Her hands curled into balls and she shoved them into the deep pockets of her white coat. Maybe if she could just focus on the pain of her fingernails embedding into her palms, she could fight back the swell of nausea assailing her that had absolutely nothing to do with her pregnancy.
“How are you today, darling?” he said with a smile that she noticed didn’t touch his eyes.
“Busy.” Her response was clipped and to the point. And it was true, she was incredibly busy in the lab. An intern had inadvertently corrupted important data on her most recent study and she’d been cross-referencing her notes all morning.
“Glad to see you’re still taking your responsibilities to your work so seriously. Which leaves the other matter.” Burton’s mouth pulled into a frown of distaste.
She stared at him, refusing to acknowledge “the matter” in the same terms as he had couched them. Logically, she’d known that Burton wouldn’t be happy with the news about the baby, but her mind emphatically rejected the idea that he could so clinically dismiss the child that even now formed within her.
“You’ll be pleased to know I’ve been able to have you scheduled at a private clinic the day after tomorrow. That gives you ten days to recover before our wedding.”
“Wednesday? So soon?” she blurted.
“It doesn’t pay to allow these things to linger,” he said, all pretense of amiability now gone. “I’ll pick you up in the morning and take you myself.”
No doubt to ensure that she went through with it, she thought, nodding to indicate that she had heard.
“Is that all?” she said, now desperate to leave the oppression his presence had become.
“For now,” Burton said, turning back to the view outside, dismissing her as if she was no longer of consequence now he’d made his dictate clear.
A phrase he’d mentioned on Saturday, about not wanting anything to mar the perfection of her, echoed in her mind. Was that all she was to Burton? An image of his idea of perfection? Something to be admired and brought out and displayed at will? She’d honestly thought, even though she didn’t love him, that they could possibly make a go of marriage. If she hadn’t believed that from the very start she would never have agreed to marry him. But now, that looked less and less likely. And yet how on earth was she to extricate herself from this dreadful mess? He held all the cards and he’d made no bones about playing them to punish her if she thwarted him in any way.
She entered her office and closed the door firmly behind her before sinking into her chair and staring with blind eyes at the data displayed on her computer screen. Sure, she could tell Raif—in fact she should tell Raif—about the baby. She knew without doubt that she and the child would be gathered up in the embrace of his family in an instant. But what of her parents? What of her career? If she didn’t do as Burton said, she’d save a potential life but destroy every other person and thing in her world that mattered.
What the hell was she going to do?
* * *
Shanal woke with a dreadful sense of loss on Wednesday morning. She’d barely slept and she felt weak and vulnerable as she prepared herself for the visit to the clinic. Burton would be here any moment and she had to be ready, but she struggled to find the motivation to wash and dress and gather her few things together. Doggedly, she pushed on, hoping she could be gone before her parents rose for the day. She had no wish to face them before the procedure. She couldn’t bear to tell them any of it—about the pregnancy, or the abortion—because it would only expand the guilt her father already wore like a heavy yoke around his neck. It was better that they knew nothing about this.
The flash of Burton’s lights as he turned into the driveway propelled her out the front door.
“All set?” he asked, as she got into his BMW.
She nodded, unable to speak. This was wrong, so wrong.