On the Sixth Thanksgiving, I Stopped Waiting for Him Chapter 06
When Julian turned and saw me lying in the shattered glass, his eyes widened.
Yet he still kept Vivian shielded behind him.
“Officer, you’ve got this wrong!”
“Mr. Prescott, our case file is complete.”
Detective Cole glanced at me lying on the floor, covered in blood. Anger flashed in his eyes.
“Ms. Bennett, can you tell me if you’re hurt?”
Seven or eight shards of glass were lodged in my back. Champagne and blood pooled in a dark stain
beneath me.
The pain was so intense that I could barely speak.
I managed to shake my head.
Then I struggled to reach for the recorder Julian had knocked away.
I pressed play.
The recorded conversation filled the gallery.
“Claire, I’m sorry…”
“After you disappeared, I told your parents that we’d had a fight and you’d run away because you
were angry with me.”
“Your father was already in poor health. I was afraid that if they found out you’d been abducted and
taken to a place like that, neither of them would survive the shock.”
It was Julian’s voice.
The gallery went silent in an instant. Everyone held their breath.
The recording continued.
“So you let them believe I had abandoned them on purpose?”
“I was wrong, but I had no other choice.”
“Were you really afraid my mother couldn’t handle the truth, Julian? Or were you afraid Vivian would be sent to prison?”
There was silence on the recording for several seconds.
Then Julian’s pleading voice came through again.
“Vivian has felt guilty all these years. She’s been trying to make it right. She spent the last six years
looking for you…”
Then my trembling voice came through.
“I lost an eye. I miscarried three times, and I had to have a hysterectomy!”
“While you were busy worrying about Vivian, did you ever stop to think about what I went through for six years?”
A deathly silence fell over the gallery.
Cameras started flashing wildly.
The crowd gasped.
“Oh my God. She was trafficked? She had three miscarriages and a hysterectomy?”
“Mr. Prescott knew that woman was responsible all along?”
“He still protected her? What kind of person does that?”
“Claire was his girlfriend, wasn’t she? She was trafficked for six years, and when she came back, he let the other woman bully her?”
“This is horrible.”
“He admitted on that recording that he knew the truth, and he still covered for her!”
The whispers surged through the room like a tide.
Vivian’s face went white. She clutched Julian’s arm and trembled.
“That isn’t true! The recording is fake! She fabricated it!”
She pointed at me, her voice shrill,
“She hates me! She’s jealous because Julian and I are together! She came back just to destroy me!
Vivian screamed and sobbed until her perfect makeup ran down her face.
“Why are you arresting me? I don’t know anything about this!”
The instant a female officer stepped forward to cuff her, Vivian crumpled as if all the strength had
drained from her body.
She fought wildly, her heels slipping across the marble floor before her knees slammed into it.
She screamed as tiny shards of glass pierced her bare legs.
“Julian! Julian, say something!”
“I don’t want to go to prison!”
“If I go to prison, you’ll owe me for the rest of your life!”
Every camera in the room turned toward her.
“Stop taking pictures! Stop!”
She screamed and backed away, but reporters stood behind her, officers were to her left, and her
fans crowded around her right.
There was nowhere for her to go.
Vivian turned to Julian, desperation in her eyes.
“Julian, you said you’d forgiven me! You said you’d marry me after my art show!”
Detective Cole looked at her coldly.
“Ms. Reed, no one has the right to forgive you on the victim’s behalf.”
Julian reached for Vivian’s arm, but Detective Cole blocked him.
“Mr. Prescott, don’t interfere with an arrest.”
Julian’s hand froze in midair.
“Take her away,” Detective Cole ordered.
Two female officers grabbed Vivian by the arms and dragged her toward the exit.
Julian took a deep breath, then turned to look at me lying on the floor, covered in blood.
Emotions flickered through his eyes-guilt, conflict, and finally, a silent plea.
“Claire, does it have to be this way?”
