The Road to Rose Bend by Naima Simone (best book club books of all time txt) 📕

Lifting her lashes, she shifted her gaze to the framed pictures on the far wall and focused on one in particular.

Carlin.

Her sister couldn’t have been older than ten, and it must’ve been one of her healthier periods. In this image, the cancer that had plagued her since she was a toddler hadn’t sunken her skin or made it appear sallow. Her eyes were bright, shining, not fuzzied by the pain or medications. Her cheeks were full, her little body slim but not fragile—not bones draped in damn near transparent skin.

Yes, the picture captured a happy moment in Sydney’s older sister’s short life.

What kind of woman would Carlin have been if she’d survived? Brilliant. Charming. Kind. Loving. Oh no doubt, Carlin would’ve been successful, perfect—the kind of daughter her parents would’ve been proud to brag about, to shower with their unconditional adoration. Carlin would’ve been a great woman...

If only Sydney had given her the chance.

“I don’t understand why you and Daniel can’t work it out,” Patricia said, and when Sydney glanced back at her mother, she just managed not to look away again from the quiet pleading in the dark brown depths of her mother’s eyes. “No marriage is easy, Sydney. It requires work. And now you have more of a reason than most to try.” Her gaze dipped down Sydney’s body again. “A baby deserves two parents. Stability is as important to a child’s well-being as love. You and Daniel could give that to your son or daughter.”

“And what about love for each other?” Sydney countered softly. “What kind of stable environment would it be to raise a child in a loveless home? You don’t think he or she wouldn’t notice that? Wouldn’t be affected by that?”

Forget that her dignity, her very person, would die a slow death if she remained in a marriage that suffocated her independence, her voice. Her choice. What kind of example would that be to a child? To a little girl, especially?

But she didn’t vocalize those thoughts. Not when she would be accused of thinking of only herself, her needs.

Mercenary.

That had been the word Daniel had flung at her, along with selfish. She was willing to sacrifice their child’s future for her own.

Of all his accusations, that one tormented her the most. When she’d rejected his proposal to remarry, he’d called her selfish, and it’d dug beneath skin and bone, excavating old hurts and insecurities. For years, she’d been proud of how she’d matured. She wasn’t the rebellious girl she’d been when she’d left home all those years ago. But with one hurled insult, Daniel had relegated her back to being that teen. Still... His words wouldn’t have shaken her, if somewhere, in the darkest corner of her heart, she didn’t already question herself.

Pain and, God help her, a sliver of shame sliced through her chest, straight to her heart. Because his accusation had contained a kernel of truth.

An image of Cole standing so alone in that cemetery snapped to mind. No doubt he and Tonia would’ve raised their child in a warm, nurturing family. Because even as a teen she’d witnessed their love for each other—had even been envious of it. No one would ever accuse Cole of being selfish. The kind of devotion he possessed for his wife wouldn’t allow room for it.

It seemed unfair that he’d lost his marriage by the whims of Fate, and she’d thrown hers away.

“We all make sacrifices for those we love, Sydney,” her father said, and she ground her teeth together against another blast of pain.

Who was he referring to? What loved ones? Daniel? Their child?

Carlin?

Because Sydney had sacrificed. For her marriage. For her sister. Over and over. But in both circumstances, it hadn’t been enough.

“So, what’s the plan, Sydney? You haven’t been back home in almost ten years,” Patricia reminded her with a shake of her head. “What do you plan to do? Where are you going to live? How are you going to support yourself and a baby? What about prenatal care...”

“No, I haven’t been back here in a long time, and I admit it. If not for being pregnant, I don’t know if I would’ve returned. But I’m here. Regardless of my personal experience in this town, it’s a good, safe place to raise a family. I want him or her to have that sense of community, that tight-knit closeness that’s next to impossible in a city. I want my baby to have...family.” She wanted her baby to have them. To be loved and accepted by them. Needed them to give her child what they hadn’t been able to give her. It couldn’t be more abundantly clear that she and her parents shared a strained relationship and that might not change. But she knew them; they wouldn’t take their disappointment out on an innocent baby. They would love their grandchild.

She’d bet on that when she came home.

Home.

She thought of the house she’d passed on the drive into Rose Bend. A white, two-story Victorian on a corner lot. Gorgeous—with a steeply pitched roof, a lovely turreted tower, wide bay windows and a wraparound porch. It’d been breathtaking, yet still managed to appear homey, welcoming. Perfect for a loving family. A pang of longing echoed in her chest even now, as it had then, and she rubbed her knuckles against the ache. She would love to raise her baby in a house like that with both parents. A house meant to be filled with laughter, joy and affection. Maybe she couldn’t give her baby that house or two parents, but she could offer her child the unconditional love of a mother, security and stability.

Contrary to what her parents thought.

Sighing, she lifted her hands, palms up. “I know what my showing up here unannounced seems like to you. That I’m being impulsive and thoughtless. And I’m responsible for that opinion. I should’ve spoken to you about the divorce, about the baby. But I didn’t because...” Because you might’ve talked