“Tell me what your family said to
make you hate yourself so much that you can’t accept anyone else loving
you?” Silence. “That’s what’s been standing between us from
the moment we met. Tell me what
happened.” She shook her head and backed
away, stopping in front of the staircase.
“You have to get beyond it, Monica.
Talk to me, please.”
She hung her head and sighed. Why was he pushing her?
“Alright,” Patrick relented. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss
away her fears, but he knew how she would respond. Instead, he walked over to the sofa and made
himself comfortable. “I’m not leaving,”
he announced. He had realized that the
state of mind Mr. Weston was concerned about had much less to do with his
wife’s death than with the life she had inflicted on Monica – and he could not
help until she told him the cause of her pain.
Monica stared at him,
panic-stricken. “You can’t stay here all
night!”
“I’ll leave when you talk to me, not
before.”
“Patrick, get out of my house!”
“No.
I’m not leaving you.” Did she
truly understand what those words meant?
“Patrick, you have to leave! I can’t have people thinking you spent the
night.”
“Then talk to me, Monica. Tell me what I need to know in order to help
us.” He crossed his arms and studied her
carefully. Silence and that stubborn
tilt of her chin. What had he just
missed about her change in demeanor? Why
had panic turned to defiance? He
blinked. Suddenly, he felt sorry for
Monica and silently prayed that he was doing the right thing.
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