CHAPTER 88

Lisa's POV

Although my flat is ancient, the view from the window is beautiful and relaxing. Sitting on a cane chair and gazing out the window, I try to picture how my life could have been if it had been this lovely.

Stunning like this breathtaking vista of Paris.

But it's not.

I live in an old building with no elevator, which makes it easier for me to go food shopping or to a bookshop every morning to purchase a new book to read for company.

It's difficult for me to climb the stairs from the ground level to the fifth story, where my room is located, because of my large tummy.

I make every effort to avoid leaving the house, not only because I don't want anybody to see me or know me as the billionaire's wife, but also because climbing the stairs is exhausting.

I used to adore coming to the bookshop every day when I first moved here. I used to purchase a book every day, but nowadays I have enough in stock to last a week or perhaps a month.

I don't have a job, so reading has become the only thing I do for myself unpaid. Sometimes I can finish a book in a day, but other times I can only get through a portion of it before falling asleep.

I do a lot of eating and sleeping in addition to reading. When I am bored of reading or putting my eyes through a lot of effort to read, I now work inside and watch movies.

I watch movies on my phone at night when the apartment's lights are sometimes turned off.

The next greatest thing that has occurred to me is Netflix. Netflix by itself is dull, but all these affairs distract me from my miserable existence.

In the months after I left America, I have been doing quite well. I sometimes miss home, and other times I'm glad I made this choice.

Every day, every hour of the day, every second, even while I'm sleeping, I think about Damien.

He is in my dreams.

He was weeping in my dream the night before. I don't know how Helena physically appeared, but I saw a lady moving away from Damien and me as he sobbed. She must be Helena, I assumed.

She didn't turn around, but her sagging shoulder gave her an uneasy appearance. When I overheard a baby crying, Damien lost his cool.

I'm not sure how to interpret this dream. In the short months that I've been hiding here, I've never experienced a nightmare like this.

Damien grinning is all I can think of. Seriously. or the sexual activity that started it all.

Will this kid kicking within not make me think of him even if I don't want to?

It definitely will.

The doctor informed me that the baby was a boy yesterday after I had a scan. I did not giggle.

The fact that my kid was okay just made me happier. Up until yesterday, when it was discovered that I was shortly to give birth to a bouncing baby boy, I didn't care whether it was going to be a boy or a girl.

But now that I know it's going to be a boy, I know he's going to be the exact duplicate of his father. If the baby is going to be a girl who looks exactly like me, maybe I won't be as upset about her reminding me of her father.

identical eyes. Identical grin. identical face.

Since I left home, my mind has been wandering more often than it ever has.

I've been so tough and determined to not think about home, but that willpower has now completely gone.

I can remember everyone.

Juliet, Grandma, Safina, Sabrina, Gabriel, Eunice, Mrs. Russell, and Damien are the last three people mentioned.

How are they all doing, I wonder. Apart from Grandma, I wonder whether anybody else misses me.

It aches my heart to think that I did this without taking into account Grandma's sentiments since I know she misses me a much.

even though I spoke to her just before leaving the country. I assured her that I would be OK and that she need not be concerned. I assured her that I would be home soon and that all I wanted was some alone. She was not informed that it would take months. I kept it a secret from her that I had no plans to return to America until my kid was born and an adult.

As I was saying those things, she began sobbing. I am aware of how much she wanted a kid for me, but I had to rescue my baby so I couldn't make her dream come true.

Damien doesn't want children, and he could use the terms of the contract that binds us to compel me to abort the child.

I was so terrified I had to flee. I impulsively left America and have been stranded in this old apartment for months without any friends, family members, or pets to keep me company—aside from my kid, of course.

the one I carry within.

After contacting Grandma, I hung up the phone and tossed it into the water. I was concerned about being found out. Damien was determined to locate me, so I made it my mission to stay hidden until my kid was born.

I'm now so anxious to hear her voice. If she's okay, please let me know. She should know that I'm still here, hale, and well.

She is the reason I am in this legally binding marriage, so I wasn't meant to cut her off in that manner. However, I was afraid she would tell Damien everything, even where I was, and he would track me down.

As soon as I arrived in Paris, I bought a new phone.

Paris is stunning, and on my second day there I took a tour of the city. Before Juliet entered my life, I was always someone who enjoyed being alone, but now the stillness is killing me. My emotions are being subjected to the unimaginable effects of loneliness.

I have been sobbing a lot lately for no apparent reason. I'm not sure whether it's the pregnant symptoms or the absence of a support system.

One of the reasons I want to speak with my last living family is because of this. I wouldn't feel alone if only my folks were still around. The possibility that I may not even be in this circumstance makes me long for everyone in America, especially Juliet.

I would have told her everything, even where I was if she hadn't deceived me. She is the only one who can make me feel better and cheer me up.

Nobody wants to be friends with a lady who has been thought to be married and is surrounded by family members from both her husband's and her parents' sides who are giddy with excitement about the impending birth of the child and even how to plan a baby shower for me.

If I don't do anything, a tear will keep falling from my eye until it is dark outside.

I dial Grandma's number while forcing my eyes away from the vistas outside the window, and the phone rings before going to voicemail.

I call again, and the situation is the same. My heart starts to beat quickly as I assume she must have experienced some kind of trauma.

After the call that morning, did she have an attack? Did she fall and break her leg while looking for me? Has she had a negative event?

I call repeatedly until it is apparent that no one will pick up the phone at home, at which point my sobs become louder.

I self-deprecate and put the phone down on the coffee table while I sob uncontrollably.

I murdered her! I murdered my grandmother!

I shouldn't have arrived here alone. I ought to have waited and kept away from Damien.

Why did I go out? Damien cannot possibly make me have an abortion on a kid I desire, is I right? Why didn't I wait to hear what he had to say at least? It doesn't even matter whether he wants the kid. The decision I made to retain it is what counts.

Until I hear a sound, I keep crying. the next-door neighbor.

She has been pounding on my door to halt my weeping even though I have been doing this for days.

I'm not sure why she does it every time, but I think my sobs are upsetting her tranquility.

"Please open the door. Let's speak!" Her yell is audible to me.

I wipe away my tears but stay seated instead of getting up. Being sat in this cane chair, which makes me appear ancient, makes it too much of a hassle to roam about.

I finally understand why she is here. She wants to be friends with me and may wonder why I cry all the time, but I don't want to be friends with someone who will place the responsibility on me.

I've only ever seen this lady once, so I'm unsure of her marital status.

I can hear her steps receding away and then her door slamming when she doesn't get a response.

As soon as I sigh, my phone starts to ring.

Except for the salesperson at the bookshop and my doctor, who often schedules appointments for me twice a month, no one phones me.

Grandma's name lights on the screen as I pick up the phone, and my bravery leaves me.

She's still here!

I feel at ease. I take up the phone and hold it up to my ears to pique my interest.

She says softly, "Hello."

Her voice is heard. She's okay. She is in good health.

Hello, who are you? She asks, but I'm at a loss for words. I had a lump in my throat. I am unable to speak. Even today, I'm not sure what to say to her.

"Lisa?" I hear her call and let out a little gasp. Lisa, are you there?

She senses it. She is aware that I will call eventually. She had been anticipating this time.

Instead of responding, I just nod.

"Lisa…"

I can only mumble "Yes" in a raspy voice. I'm here, Grandma.

I'm expecting her to become aroused, but she stops speaking altogether. Before she asks, there is a brief stillness. I asked, "Where are you?"

She exudes anger.

I don't answer. I keep hearing the ominous quiet.

"Lisa?"

"Grandma, I'm good. You shouldn't be concerned about me.

She utters "I want to know where you are" once again, her voice angry and anxious.

Though I don't intend to let her know where I am, I don't want her to stop being upset with me. We'll talk again, just not right now. Telling her where I am won't do any harm. If I don't want to be discovered, she can't find me.

"Paris?" Though I shut my eyes so she can comprehend my statement, it sounds like an inquiry.

"Paris?" She laughs. "Lisa, are you in Paris?" She sounds as if she is going to weep as her voice breaks.

I did not request this. I made a comforting call.

I ought not to have informed her.

I hurriedly ended the conversation and put my phone away before she could say anything further.

I should have waited to contact her. I shouldn't have given her my number when I phoned.

I'm hoping she won't start bugging me to go home right away. I just wanted to make sure I was okay.

But right now, all I want is for her to accept my apology for being a wayward daughter.