Love Rents A Room
Chapter 50: Her Odd Request

Chapter 50: Her Odd Request

Joanne scoffed. "Winchester? In what universe would I be suited to marry the grandson of Philip Winchester?" Her voice was laced with disbelief. "Who in their right mind would believe I was engaged to a Winchester?"

Yet, despite her outward defiance, her eyes flickered toward the hallway—searching for JD. The last thing she wanted was for him to overhear this. By now, he must have already picked up enough rumors about her from the townsfolk, but this? This was a part of her past she wasn’t ready to let anyone in on.

He wasn’t there. She heard the shower running upstairs.

Relief washed over her.

Fiona let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking her head. "How can you sit there and deny it like this?" she murmured. "I’ve watched you for the past four years—watched everything you’ve accomplished, and I hated you for it. I envied you. Even my own family admired you, and I couldn’t stand it." She scoffed at herself, as if realizing the absurdity of her confession. "Why am I even telling you this?" she mumbled.

Joanne stayed silent, her mind working fast.

That’s not the point, Fiona had said.

Then what was?

Fiona took a steadying breath, her hand instinctively resting on her abdomen.

"I’m scared," she admitted.

Joanne’s gaze sharpened.

Fiona looked fragile—like she was holding herself together by sheer will—but Joanne wasn’t naive enough to take her words at face value. There had to be an angle, a hidden reason for this confession.

And then, something clicked.

Almost everyone in town knew that her grandfather had been close friends with Philip Winchester. If Fiona had wanted to spread this rumor about Joanne’s engagement, people would have believed it.

But she hadn’t.

She had kept it to herself.

Until now.

This wasn’t just a petty power play. Fiona was using this information as leverage.

Joanne’s wariness deepened as she watched Fiona closely.

"I hated you," Fiona continued, her voice heavier now, as if the weight of her own emotions was pulling her under. "Even when my husband told me he loved me, I didn’t believe him. I was consumed with insecurity, and I blamed you for it. When I first got pregnant, the very first thought that came to my mind wasn’t joy—it was that I could give my husband his first child. That I could finally one-up you."

Joanne’s expression softened slightly.

Her first pregnancy. That was an odd way to phrase it.

"It didn’t..." Fiona’s voice cracked. She looked down at her trembling hands just as a single tear slipped onto her skin.

Joanne stilled.

Fiona had miscarried.

Then—

"Then I got pregnant again and..." Another tear splashed onto her hand.

Joanne’s heart clenched.

Twice?

She hadn’t known.

The weight of that loss hit her like a stone, unexpected and painful.

"I’m so sorry for your loss," Joanne said, her voice steady but filled with quiet sorrow. She couldn’t stay seated any longer. Rising, she walked over to Fiona and gently took her hands in her own. She might not know Fiona well—might not even like her—but no woman deserved this.

And these were Liam’s children, too. Children who had never taken a breath in this world.

Fiona lifted her gaze, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear her vision—to really see Joanne.

There was no trace of satisfaction on Joanne’s face. No hidden smirk, no glimmer of triumph. Only sincerity.

Fiona exhaled shakily.

"You’re exactly the person Liam thinks you are," she whispered.

Joanne remained still, processing those words.

Through all of Fiona’s outbursts, Liam had never once spoken ill of her. No matter how much Fiona had resented Joanne’s presence in their history, Liam had only ever said that he loved his wife—never that he hated Joanne. Never that he had regretted her.

He had been firm.

He had done everything to prove his love for Fiona, but he had never once disrespected the place Joanne held in his past.

And now, Fiona understood why.

Liam knew Joanne.

Joanne cleared her throat and shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the weight of emotions pressing in. She didn’t want to get sentimental, not here, not now.

But before she could move, Fiona reached for her hand, stopping her.

"I know why I’m here now," Fiona said, her voice steadier. "I came to tell you that I don’t hate you."

Joanne blinked, caught off guard.

"You’re not the villain everyone makes you out to be," Fiona continued. "You’re... a good woman. And that’s why my husband—" She stopped and exhaled. "I got this ring from an honest man." She lifted her hand, the diamond catching the light. "And you are the one who made a man out of him."

Joanne opened her mouth to respond, but Fiona didn’t let her.

"His childhood... growing up with a drug-addicted mother and an absent father... the odds were stacked against him. He shouldn’t be where he is now. But he is. And that’s because of you." Fiona let out a soft, almost reluctant laugh. "For years, I refused to see it. But now? I can admit it—you shaped the man he became. And for that... I want to thank you." She took a slow breath. "Thank you for leaving him—for giving me the chance to love him."

Joanne scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Well, gee, don’t mention it," she said, dryly. What was this, some kind of elaborate prank? Was Fiona secretly recording this conversation?

Fiona let out a deep breath.

"Joanne," she said carefully. "Do me a favor. Talk to Liam."

Joanne’s expression hardened instantly.

"What?" she asked, pulling her hand free.

"Talk to him. Really talk to him," Fiona said, holding her gaze.

Joanne shook her head. "Why?"

"Because he needs closure. We need closure."

Joanne’s lips pressed into a thin line.

"I was wrong to keep him from speaking to you," Fiona admitted. "You were always a part of his life. He misses you. And I knew that—but I was selfish. Even now... he knows you’re in some kind of trouble. And it’s killing him that he can’t help you."

Joanne’s stomach twisted. She was truly in a trouble with that madman escaping from prison. She was worried and she did get nightmares. But how did Liam manage to sense that? Patrick wouldn’t have told him, so how?

"I don’t need your husband’s help, Mrs. Sullivan," she said, her voice clipped. Was this a trap? Some kind of elaborate scheme?