So Be It
Chicken and dumplings.
It was the fifth meal I cooked after living in our new house for two weeks.
It’s the only meal Jeremy ever threw against the dining room wall.
I’d known for several days that he was upset with me. I just didn’t know why. We were still having sex almost every day, but even the sex felt different.
Like he was disconnected. Fucking me because it was our routine and not because he craved me.
That’s the reason I decided to cook the goddamn dumplings in the first place.
I was trying to be nice by making one of his favorite meals. He was having a hard time adjusting to his new job. To make matters worse, he was upset with me for putting the girls in daycare without consulting him first.
Back in New York, we hired a nanny as soon as my books started selling.
She would show up every morning when Jeremy left for work so that I could retreat to my office and write every day. Then she’d leave when Jeremy came home, and I’d come out of my office and we’d cook dinner together.
It was a great setup, I’ll admit. I never had to care for them when Jeremy wasn’t around because we had the nanny. But out here, in the middle of nowhere, nannies are hard to come by. I tried watching them myself the first two days, but that was beyond exhausting, and I wasn’t getting any writing done. So, one morning last week, I was so fed up, I drove them into town and enrolled them into the first daycare I came across.
I knew Jeremy didn’t like it, but he realized we had to do something if we both wanted to continue to work. I was more successful than he was, so if anyone was going to stay home and care for them during the day, it certainly wasn’t going to be me.
But the girls being in daycare wasn’t what was bothering him. He seemed to like the interaction they were getting with other children, because he couldn’t shut up about it. But we had discovered a few months earlier that Chastin had a severe allergy to peanuts, so Jeremy was cautious. He didn’t want anyone caring for her but us. He was afraid the daycare would be careless, even though Chastin was the kid I actually liked. I wasn’t stupid. I made sure they knew all about her
Whatever it was that had him irritated with me, I was positive it was something a bowl of dumplings and a good fuck would help him forget.
I intentionally started dinner late that night so the girls would be in bed when we ate. They were only three, so luckily, they were tucked in by seven. It was almost eight when I set the table and called Jeremy to come and eat.
I tried to make it as romantic as possible, but it’s hard to make chicken and dumplings sexy. I lit candles on the table and set up my playlist through the wireless speakers. I had on clothes, but underneath them, I was wearing lingerie.
Something I didn’t do often.
I tried to make small talk with him as we ate.
“I think Chastin is fully potty trained now,” I said to him. “They’ve been working with her at daycare.”
“That’s good,” Jeremy said, scrolling through his phone with one hand and eating with the other.
I waited a moment, hoping whatever it was on his phone would take a back seat to us. When it didn’t, I adjusted myself in my seat and attempted to grab his attention again. I knew conversation about the girls was his favorite subject.
“When I picked them up today, the teacher said she’s learned seven colors this week.”
“Who?” he said, finally making eye contact with me.
“Chastin.”
He stared at me, dropped his phone flat on the table, and took another bite.
What the fuck is his problem?
I could see the anger he was trying to stifle, and it made me nervous. Jeremy never got upset, and when he did, I almost always knew why he was. But this was different. It was coming out of left field.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I sat back in my chair and dropped my napkin on the table. “Why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad.” He said it too fast.
I laughed. “You’re pathetic.”
He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Excuse me?”
I leaned forward. “Just tell me, Jeremy. Enough of this bullshit silent treatment. Be a man and tell me what your problem is.”
His fists clenched and then unclenched. Then he stood up and slapped his bowl, sending it across the table and all over the dining room wall. I had never seen him lose his temper. I stiffened, wide-eyed, as he stomped out of the kitchen.
I heard him slam our bedroom door. I looked at the mess and knew I’d have
to clean it up after we made up so he’d know how much I appreciated him. Even if he was being a major fucking douche.
I shoved my chair under the table and walked to the bedroom. He was pacing back and forth. When I closed the door behind me, he looked up and paused. He was trying so hard in that moment to put his words in order—everything he needed to say to me. As angry as I was at him for throwing the meal I had worked so hard making for him, I felt bad that he was upset.
“It’s constant, Verity,” he said. “You talk about her constantly. You never talk about Harper. You never tell me what Harper learned in school or how Harper’s doing with potty training or all the cute things Harper said. It’s Chastin, all the time, every day.”
Shit. Even with how much I try to hide it, he still sees it. “That’s not true,” I said.
“It is true. And I’ve tried to keep my mouth shut, but they’re getting older.
Harper’s going to notice that you treat them differently. It isn’t fair to her.”
I wasn’t sure how to get out of that predicament. I could have gotten defensive, accused him of something I didn’t like. But I knew he was right, so I needed to find a way to make him think he was wrong. Luckily, he turned away from me, so it gave me a moment to think. I looked up, like I was turning to God for advice. Stupid, girl. God won’t help you out of this one.
I stepped forward, cautiously. “Baby. It’s not that I like Chastin more. She’s just…smarter than Harper. So she accomplishes things first.”
He spins around, angrier than before I even opened my mouth. “Chastin isn’t smarter than Harper. They’re different. But Harper is very intelligent.”
“I know that,” I said, taking another step toward him. I kept my voice low.
Sweet. Unoffended. “That’s not what I meant. I meant…it’s easier for me to have a reaction to what Chastin does because Chastin likes that. She’s animated, like me. Harper isn’t. I give her silent affirmation. I don’t make a show of it.
She’s like you in that way.”
His stare was unwavering, but I was almost certain he was buying it, so I continued.
“I don’t push Harper when she’s in those moods, so yes, I do talk about Chastin more. Sometimes I focus on her more. But only because I realize they’re two different children with two different sets of needs. I have to be two different mothers to each of them.”
I was good at spewing bullshit . It’s why I became a writer.
Jeremy’s anger was slowly melting away. His jaw wasn’t as tense as he ran a hand through his hair, taking in what I had just said. “I worry about Harper,” he said. “More than I should, I’m sure. I don’t think treating them differently is the
right thing to do going forward. Harper might notice the difference.”
A month earlier, one of the daycare workers had expressed concern to me about Harper. It wasn’t until that moment—when Jeremy was expressing his concern for her—that I remembered her mentioning it to me. She said she thinks we should have her tested for Asperger’s. I had forgotten all about it until that moment during my fight with Jeremy. And thank God I remembered because it was the perfect way to back up my defense.
“I wasn’t going to mention this because I didn’t want you to worry,” I said to him. “But one of their daycare teachers told me she thinks we should have Harper tested for Asperger’s.”
Jeremy’s concern grew tenfold in that moment. I tried to subdue that concern as quickly as possible.
“I’ve called a specialist already.” At least I will put a call in tomorrow.
“They’re going to call back when they have an opening.”
Jeremy pulled out his phone, becoming sidetracked by the potential diagnosis. “They think Harper is on the autism spectrum?”
I took his phone from his hands.
“Don’t. You’ll worry yourself sick until the appointment. Let’s speak to the specialist first because the internet isn’t the place we need to seek out answers for our daughter.”
He nodded and then pulled me in for a hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against the side of my head. “It’s been a shitty week. I lost a big client at work today.”
“You don’t have to work, Jeremy. I make enough money for you to spend more time at home with the girls if that would make it easier.”
“I would go insane if I didn’t work.”
“Maybe so, but it’s going to be really expensive putting three kids through daycare.”
“We can afford…” He paused, pulling back. “Did you say… three?”
I nodded. I was lying, of course, but I wanted the mood of the night to disappear. I wanted him to be happy. And he was so happy after I told him I was pregnant again.
“Are you sure? I thought you didn’t want more.”
“I was sloppy with the pill a couple of weeks ago. It’s still early. Really early. I found out this morning.” I smiled. Then I smiled even bigger.
“You’re happy about it?”
“Of course I am. Are you?”
He laughed a little, then he kissed me, and all was back to normal. Thank God.
I gripped his shirt in my fist and kissed him back with everything in me, wanting him to forget all about the fight we were having. He could tell by my kiss that I wanted more than just a kiss. He took off my shirt, then took off his own. He kissed me as he backed up to the bed. When he removed my pants, he saw the bra and panties I had put on for him.
“You’re wearing lingerie?” he asked. He dropped his head into my neck.
“And you made my favorite meal,” he said, disappointed. I wasn’t sure why he sounded disappointed until he pulled back, brushed hair from my face, and said,
“I am so sorry, Verity. You were trying to make tonight special and I ruined it for you.”
What he doesn’t understand is that he could never ruin a night for me when it ends with him loving me. Focusing on me.
I shook my head. “You didn’t ruin it.”
“I did. I threw my food, I yelled at you.” He brought his mouth to mine. “I’ll make it up to you.”
And he did. He fucked me slowly, kissing me the whole time, taking turns with each nipple as he sucked them. Had I breastfed, would he be enjoying my breasts as much?
I doubted it. Even after twins, my body was nearly perfect. Aside from the scar on my abdomen, the most important parts of me were still in tact. Still fairly firm. And Jeremy’s temple between my legs was still nice and tight.
When he had me close to the edge, he pulled out of me. “I want to taste you,”
he said, moving down my body until his tongue was spreading me apart.
Of course you want to taste me, I thought. I kept things in tact for you down there. You’re welcome.
He stayed between my legs until I came for him. Twice. When he began to crawl back up my body, he paused at my stomach and kissed me there. Then he was inside of me again, his mouth on mine. “I love you,” he whispered between kisses. “Thank you.”
He was thanking me for being pregnant.
He made love to me with so much care, with so much compassion. It was almost worth faking the pregnancy just to have him love me like that again. To get our connection back.
If there was one good thing the girls brought to our life, it was that Jeremy seemed to love me the most when I was pregnant. Now that he thought I was about to give him a third child, I could already feel his love multiplying again.
There was a small part of me that was concerned about faking the pregnancy, but I knew I had options if I didn’t get pregnant that week. Miscarriages were just as easy to fake as pregnancies.
It’s been another week of reading Verity’s manuscript, and I’m bored. I’m finding it repetitive. Chapter after chapter of detailed sex with Jeremy. Very little to do with her children. She wrote two paragraphs about Crew’s birth, but then went on to talk about the first time they were able to fuck after Crew was born.
It got to a point where I started feeling jealous. I don’t like reading about Jeremy’s sex life. I skimmed a chapter this morning, but finally tossed it aside to get back to work. I finished the outline for the first book today and submitted it to Corey for feedback. He said he’d forward it to the editor at Pantem, because he still hasn’t read any of Verity’s books and wouldn’t know if the outline is sufficient. Until I hear back from them, I don’t really want to start on the second outline. If they come back wanting changes, it will have been work wasted.
I’ve been here almost two weeks now. Corey says they processed my advance and it should hit my account any day now. Once I get the feedback from Pantem, it’ll likely be time for me to move on. I’ve done all I can do in Verity’s office. If it weren’t for not having anywhere to go until that money hits my account, I’d have already left.
I hit a wall today. I’m burnt out from working so much these past two weeks.
And I could read more of Verity’s autobiography, but I’m really not in the mood to read about all the ways Verity can suck her husband’s dick.
I miss television. I haven’t stepped foot in their living room since I arrived here almost two weeks ago. I leave the confines of Verity’s office and make myself a bag of popcorn, then sit on the living room sofa and turn on the television. I deserve to be a little lazy because tomorrow is my birthday, but I’m not planning on telling Jeremy that.
I keep glancing at the top of the stairs because I have the perfect view of it from the couch, but Jeremy is nowhere. I haven’t seen much of him over the last couple of days. I think we both know how close we came to kissing the other night, and how inappropriate that would have been, so we’ve been avoiding each other.
I turn the channel to HGTV and settle into the couch. I’ve watched about
fifteen minutes of a house remodel when I finally hear Jeremy coming down the stairs. He pauses mid-step when he sees me in the living room. Then he descends the rest of the stairs and makes his way over, joining me on the couch. He sits in the middle, close enough to reach over and grab a few pieces of my popcorn, but far enough away that we aren’t in danger of touching.
“Research?” he says, propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of him.
I laugh. “Of course. Always working.”
He grabs more popcorn this time, cupping some in his hand. “Verity would binge-watch TV when she had writer’s block. She said it sometimes sparked new ideas.”
I don’t want to talk about Verity, so I change the subject. “I finished an outline today. If it gets approved tomorrow, I’ll probably leave in a couple of days.”
Jeremy stops chewing and looks at me. “Yeah?”
I like that he doesn’t seem happy about the thought of me leaving. “Yes. And thanks for letting me stay longer than I should have.”
He holds my stare. “Longer than you should have?” He starts chewing again and faces the television. “I don’t think it’s been long enough.”
I don’t know what he means by that. If he thinks I didn’t do enough work while I was here, or if he’s saying it selfishly, like he didn’t get to spend enough time with me.
Sometimes, especially right now, I feel how much he’s drawn to me, but then other times it seems like he works so hard to deny whatever attraction there might be between us. And I get that. I do. But is this how he’s going to spend the rest of his life? Giving up huge parts of himself to care for a woman who is just a shell of the person he married?
I understand he made vows, but at what cost? His entire life? People get married assuming they’ll live long, happy lives together. What happens when one of those is cut short, but the other is expected to live out those vows for the rest of their life?
It doesn’t seem fair. I know if I were married and my husband were in Jeremy’s predicament, I wouldn’t want my husband to feel like he could never move on. But I’m not sure I’ll ever be as obsessed with a man as Verity was with Jeremy.
The show ends and another one begins. Neither of us speaks for several minutes. It’s not that I have nothing to say—I have a lot to say. I just don’t know that it’s my place.
“I don’t know very much about you,” Jeremy says. His head is against the back of the couch and he’s looking at me, casually. “Have you ever been
“Nope,” I say. “Came close a couple of times, but it never worked out.”
“How old are you?”
Of course, he would ask me that when my age will expire in just over an hour. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Jeremy laughs. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I’ll be thirty-two. Tomorrow.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying. I’ll show you my driver’s license.”
“Good, because I don’t believe you.”
I roll my eyes and then go to the master bedroom to grab my purse. I bring back my driver’s license and hand it to him.
He stares at it, shaking his head. “What a shitty birthday,” he says. “Hanging out with people you barely know. Working all day.”
I shrug. “If I wasn’t here, I’d just be alone in my apartment.”
He stares at my driver’s license a moment longer. When he runs his thumb over my picture, I get actual chills. He didn’t even touch me—he touched my fucking driver’s license—and it turned me on.
I am pathetic.
He hands it back to me and stands up.
“Where are you going?”
“To make you a cake,” he says, walking out of the living room.
I smile and then follow him to the kitchen. Jeremy Crawford baking a cake is something I don’t want to miss.
•••
I’m sitting on the island in the middle of the kitchen, watching him put icing on the cake. In all the days I’ve been here, this is only the second time I’ve actually had fun. We haven’t talked about Verity or our tragedies or the contract for the past hour. While the cake was baking, I sat on the bar, my legs dangling off the edge of it. Jeremy leaned against the counter in front of me and we talked about movies, music, our likes and dislikes.
We’ve actually started getting to know each other outside of everything that ties us together. He was relaxed the night we went out to dinner with Crew, but I haven’t seen him this at ease inside these walls since I arrived.
I can almost— almost—understand Verity’s addiction to him.
“Go back to the living room,” he says as he pulls the candles from a drawer.
“Why?”
“Because. I have to walk in with your cake and sing you ‘Happy Birthday.’
Give you the full effect.”
I roll my head and jump off the bar, then go back to the couch. I mute the television because I want to hear him singing me happy birthday without interruptions. I keep hitting the information button on the remote, checking the time. He’s waiting for it to turn midnight to make it official.
Right when it hits midnight, I can see the flicker of candles as he makes his way around the corner. I laugh when he starts to sing quietly so he doesn’t wake up Crew.
“Happy birthday to you,” he whispers. He’s cut a single slice of cake and stuck a candle in the top of it. “Happy birthday to you.”
I’m still laughing when he reaches the couch, slowly kneeling down on it so he doesn’t spill the cake or risk the candle being blown out when he sits next to me.
“Happy birthday, dear Lowen. Happy birthday to you.”
We’re facing each other on the couch so I can make a wish and blow out the candle, but I’m not sure what to wish for. I’ve been lucky enough to land a really great job. I’m about to get more money than I’ve ever had in my bank account at one time. The only thing in my life that I feel like I want right now that I don’t have is him. I look him in the eye, then blow out the candle.
“What’d you wish for?”
“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
The way he smiles at me seems heavily flirtatious. “Maybe you can tell me after it comes true.”
He doesn’t hand me the cake. He makes a show of it, slicing into it with a fork. “Do you know what the secret ingredient is to making such a moist cake?”
He holds out the fork and I take it from him. “What is it?”
“Pudding.”
I take a bite of the cake and smile. “It’s really good,” I say with a mouthful.
“Pudding,” he says again.
I laugh.
He holds the plate, and I take another bite, then offer him the fork. He shakes his head. “I had a bite in the kitchen.”
I don’t know why, but I wish I had seen that. I also wish I knew if he tasted like chocolate.
Jeremy lifts a hand. “You have icing on your…” He points at my mouth. I brush at it, but he shakes his head. “Right here.” He slides his thumb across my bottom lip.
I swallow the bite of cake.
His thumb doesn’t leave my lip. It lingers there.
Fuck. I can’t breathe.
I’m aching everywhere because he’s so close, but I don’t know what I’m allowed to do about it. I want to drop my fork, I want him to drop the plate of cake, I want him to kiss me. But I’m not the married one here. I don’t want to make the first move and he shouldn’t make the first move, but I’m desperate for him.
He doesn’t drop the cake. Instead, he leans across me and places it on the end table. In the same fluid movement, he brings his hand to my head and presses his lips to mine. Even after all the anticipation I’ve held for this moment, it still feels completely unexpected.
I close my eyes and drop the fork on the floor, leaning back into the arm of the couch. He follows me, crawling on top of me, our lips never disconnecting. I part my lips, and he sweeps his tongue inside my mouth. The slowness of the kiss doesn’t last long. As soon as we get our first tastes of each other, the kiss becomes manic. It’s everything I imagined kissing him would feel like.
Radiation, explosives, dynamite. Anything and everything dangerous.
We taste like chocolate as we trade kisses, back and forth, push and pull. His hand is tangled in my hair, and with every second this kiss continues, we become infused with the couch beneath us, him relaxing into me as I melt into the cushions.
His mouth leaves mine in search of other parts of me he seems eager to taste.
My jaw, my neck, the tops of my breasts. It’s as if he’s been starving himself of me. He’s kissing me and touching me with the hunger of a man who’s been fasting his whole life.
His hand is sliding up my shirt and his fingers are warm, trickling over my skin like drops of hot water.
He’s back at my mouth, but only momentarily. Long enough to find my tongue before he pulls back and takes off his shirt. My hands go to his chest like they belong there, pressed against the curves of his abdomen. I want to tell him this is what I wished for when I blew out my candle, but I’m afraid any conversation will lead him to think about what we’re doing and how we shouldn’t be doing it, so I remain quiet.
I lean my head back against the arm of the couch, wanting him to explore even more of me.
He does. He pulls off my shirt and sees that I’m not wearing a bra beneath my pajamas. He groans, and it’s beautiful, and then he takes my nipple into his mouth, forcing a whimper to escape my lips.
I lift my head to watch him, but my blood runs cold when my eyes are pulled
to the figure standing at the top of the stairs. She’s just standing there, watching her husband as his mouth roams over my breast.
My entire body stiffens beneath Jeremy.
Verity’s fists clench at her sides before she rushes back in the direction of her room.
I gasp, shoving him, pushing him. “Verity,” I say, breathless. He stops kissing me and then lifts his head, but he doesn’t move. “Verity,” I say again, wanting him to understand that he needs to get the fuck off me.
He lifts up onto his arms, confused.
“Verity!” I say again, but with more urgency. It’s all I can say. My fear has taken hold of me and I struggle to inhale, to exhale.
What the fuck?
Jeremy is on his knees now, gripping the back of the couch as he moves away. “I’m sorry.”
I pull my knees up and scoot to the far end of the couch, away from him. I cover my mouth. “Oh, God.” The words crash against my trembling fingers.
He tries to touch my arm reassuringly, but I flinch. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
I’m shaking my head because he doesn’t understand. He thinks I’m upset and feel guilty that he’s married, but I saw her. Standing. She was standing. I point to the top of the stairs. “I saw her.” I whisper it, quietly, because I’m terrified to say it louder. “She was standing at the top of the stairs.”
I can see the confusion cross his face as he turns to look at the stairs. He looks back at me. “She can’t walk, Lowen.”
I’m not crazy. I stand up and back away from the couch, covering my bare chest with my arm. I point at the stairs again, finding my voice this time. “Your fucking wife was standing at the top of the fucking stairs, Jeremy! I know what I saw!”
He sees in my eyes that I’m telling the truth. Two seconds pass before he’s off the couch and running up the stairs, toward her bedroom.
He’s not leaving me down here alone.
I grab my shirt, pull it on over my head, and then run after him. I refuse to be alone in this house for another second.
When I reach the top of the stairs, he’s standing in her doorway, staring into her room. He hears me approaching. And then he just…leaves. He brushes past me without making eye contact and stomps down the stairs.
I take several steps until I’m close enough to peek into her room. I only glance in there for one second. It’s all the time I need to see that she’s in bed.
Under the covers. Asleep.
I shake my head, feeling my knees wanting to buckle. This can’t be happening. I somehow make it to the stairs, but I only make it halfway down them before I have to sit. I can’t move. I can barely draw a breath. My heart has never beat this fast.
Jeremy is at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me. He probably doesn’t know what to think about what just happened. I don’t know what to think. He walks back and forth in front of the stairs, looking at me every now and then, I’m sure because he’s waiting for me to start laughing at my tasteless joke. It wasn’t a joke.
“I saw her,” I whisper.
He hears me. He looks at me, not with anger, but with apology. He walks up the stairs and helps me up, then keeps his arm around me as he leads me back down. He takes me to the bedroom and closes the door, then wraps himself around me. I bury my face in his neck, wanting the image of her out of my head.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I just… Maybe I haven’t been getting enough sleep…
Maybe I…”
“It’s my fault,” Jeremy says, interrupting me. “You’ve been working for two weeks without a break. You’re exhausted. And then I— we—it’s paranoia. Guilt.
I don’t know.” He pulls back, holding my face with both hands. “I think we both need about twelve hours of solid sleep.”
I’m convinced by what I saw. We can blame it on exhaustion or guilt, but I saw her. I saw everything. Her fists clenched at her sides. The anger in her expression before she rushed away.
“Do you want some water?”
I shake my head. I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want to be alone. “Please don’t leave me alone tonight,” I beg.
His expression doesn’t reveal what he’s thinking at all. He nods, just a little, then says, “I won’t. But I need to turn off the TV and lock the doors. Put the cake in the fridge.” He heads for the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I go to the bathroom and wash my face, hoping the cold water will help calm me. It doesn’t. When I return to the bedroom, Jeremy is sliding the lock across the top of the door. “I can’t stay all night,” he says. “I don’t want Crew to get scared if he wakes up and can’t find me.”
I climb into the bed and face the window. Jeremy climbs in behind me, then wraps himself around me. I can feel his heartbeat, and it’s almost as fast as mine.
He shares the pillow with me, finds my hand, and slides his fingers through mine.
I try to mimic his pattern of breathing so that mine will slow down. I’m breathing through my nose because my jaw is clamped too tight to take in
normal breaths. Jeremy presses a kiss to the side of my head.
“Relax,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”
I try to relax. And maybe I do, but it’s only because we both lie here for so long, it’s hard for muscles to retain that much tension after a while. “Jeremy?” I whisper.
He runs a thumb across my hand to let me know he hears me.
“Is there a chance… Could she be faking her injuries?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Almost as if he has to give the question some thought. “No,” he finally says. “I saw the scans.”
“But people get better. Injuries heal.”
“I know,” he says. “But Verity wouldn’t fake something like this. No one would. It would be impossible.”
I close my eyes, because he’s trying to reassure me that he knows her well enough to know that she wouldn’t do something like that. But if there’s one thing I know that Jeremy doesn’t…it’s that he doesn’t know Verity at all.
I went to bed convinced I had seen Verity at the top of the stairs last night.
I woke up full of doubt.
I’ve spent most of my life not trusting myself in my sleep. Now I’m starting to not trust myself when I’m awake. Did I see her? Was it a hallucination because of stress? Did I feel guilty for being with her husband?
I lay in bed for a while this morning, not wanting to leave the room. Jeremy left my bed sometime around four this morning. I heard him lock the door, then he texted me a minute later and told me to text if I needed him again.
Sometime after lunch today, Jeremy knocked on the door to the office. When he came inside, he looked like he hadn’t slept. He hasn’t slept much this week at all because of me. From his point of view, I’m a hysterical mess of a woman who wakes up in his wife’s bed in the middle of the night and then claims I see his wife standing at the top of the stairs after he finally kisses me.
I thought he had come to the office to ask me to leave, and honestly, I’m more than ready to go, but the money still hasn’t hit my account. I’m kind of stuck here until it does.
He had come to my office to let me know he got another lock. For Verity’s door this time.
“I thought it might help you sleep. Knowing there’s no way she could leave the room if that were even possible.”
If that were even possible.
“I’ll only lock it at night, when we’re asleep,” he continues. “I told April her door comes open at night because of drafts in the house. I don’t want her to think it’s there for any other reason.”
I thanked him, but after he’d gone, I didn’t feel reassured at all. Because part of me worried that he’d put the lock there because he was worried. Of course I wanted him to believe me, but if he believed me, that meant it might be true.
In this case, I would rather be wrong than right.
I’m struggling with what to do with Verity’s manuscript now. I want Jeremy to understand his wife in the way that I now understand her. I feel like he
deserves to know what she did to his girls, especially since Crew spends so much time up there with her. And I’m still full of suspicion since he spoke of Verity talking to him. I know he’s only five, so there’s a chance he was confused, but if there’s even a remote possibility that Verity could be faking it, Jeremy deserves to know.
But I haven’t worked up the courage to give the manuscript to him yet because it is just a remote possibility that she’s faking it. It would be more plausible to believe I was seeing things due to exhaustion and sleep deprivation than it would be to think a woman could fake a disability of that extent for months on end. Without any apparent reason.
There’s also the fact that I haven’t finished it yet. I don’t know how it ends. I don’t know what happened to Harper or Chastin, or if the timeline of this manuscript even covers those events.
There isn’t much left to read. I’ll probably only be able to digest one chapter before needing to take a break from the horror of this manuscript. I make sure the door to the office is closed, and I start the next chapter and decide to skip it, along with several others. I don’t even want to read about a simple kiss, much less more sex. I don’t want to ruin the kiss we shared by reading about him doing that with another woman.
When I’ve skipped yet another intimate scene and reach the chapter I feel may be an explanation for Chastin’s death, I double-check the office door again before starting it.