Chapter 7 - The Neutral Church Parking Lot
The overcast sky hung low and heavy over the county road, casting a flat, gray light across the asphalt of Saint Jude’s parking lot. The white brick church sat quiet behind a row of bare oak trees, its tall steeple cutting into the damp afternoon air. I pulled my sedan into a slot near the back, my tires crunching softly against loose gravel. A few spaces away, his luxury black sedan stood parked, its windows reflecting the dull silver of the clouds.
I cut the engine. The silence inside the car felt thick, broken only by the faint ticking of the cooling metal under the hood. My handbag was slung over my shoulder, the leather strap heavy against the cream knit cardigan I had pulled over my floral dress. I reached down, my hand resting briefly on the dashboard before I pushed the door open and stepped out onto the damp pavement.
Marco’s car door clicked open a moment later. He stepped out, wearing a dark suit that felt entirely too sharp for the humble gravel lot, though he had discarded his black tie and left his white shirt collar unbuttoned at the top. The stiff formality of the estate gates was gone, replaced by a tense, restless energy. He stood beside his vehicle, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, watching me cross the small expanse of empty space between us.
"You came," he said. His voice was low, carrying easily across the quiet lot under the gray sky.
"I said I would," I replied, keeping a measured distance between us. I stayed near the front fender of my car, my fingers hooked over the leather strap of my bag. "We couldn't talk back there. Not with everything wrapped up in stone walls and guards."
Marco took a slow step forward, his dark hair ruffled slightly by the damp wind blowing off the highway. His jaw was tight, the muscles working beneath his cleanly shaved skin. He looked at me with an intensity that felt heavy, demanding answers that had been buried under six years of silence.
"Why six years, Isabella?" His voice dropped an octave, strained and incredulous. "You walked away, and you just erased me. You kept him a secret from the very first day. How do you expect me to wrap my head around that?"
I looked away for a second, my eyes catching on the white wooden doors of the church. The cold air burned the back of my throat. When I looked back at him, I didn't see the untouchable man from the foundation towers or the grand estate. I saw the man I had known before the ambition completely consumed him.
"Because the world you built didn't have room for anything that didn't fit your blueprint," I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my chest. "You were climbing. Every dinner, every board meeting, every public appearance—it was all about protecting your image, your status, your trajectory. When I told you I needed something real, something grounded, you looked at me like I was asking you to throw your life away."
"That isn't fair," Marco muttered, taking another step closer, his hands coming out of his pockets in a gesture of frustrated defense. "I was building a foundation for us. For a future."
"No, Marco. You were building it for yourself," I said, stepping back just enough to maintain my boundary. "When I realized I was pregnant, you were already deep into the merger with the Henderson group. You told me straight out that any complications—any personal distractions—would ruin months of work. You made your priorities clear long before I ever packed a bag. I didn't hide him out of spite. I hid him out of survival."
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Marco stopped. The words seemed to hit him like a physical blow, the air rushing out of him in a visible sigh. He ran a hand over his face, his fingers pressing into his eyes before he dropped his hand back to his side. The silence stretched between us, heavy and unresolved, broken only by the distant hum of traffic from the interstate beyond the oak trees.
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