“Can I ask what had you so worried?”
“Just a feeling.” I closed my swollen eyes and rubbed circles along my forehead.
“Well, thank God everything’s okay. Hug the kids. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving.”
After a second delay, standing in line for a rental car, and navigating the snowy roads (which took six instead of three hours), I made it home by nine o’clock Thanksgiving night.
No lights illuminated the windows, and no smoke escaped from the chimney. Maybe Ronin didn’t think starting a fire for one was worth it. Maybe he wasn’t home. Maybe he was in bed already. Maybe he was with Lila.
A million maybe’s.
I parked the rental SUV in the driveway and sent a quick text off to Katie to let her and Dad know I made it home safely.
When I eased open the front door, it was quiet, too quiet. And dark. Too dark. It was all these feelings of something being just a little too off that brought me all the way home on Thanksgiving, leaving my kids behind.
I slipped off my boots as I turned on the light. My whole body jolted with a gasp when I glanced up toward the kitchen table.
Jesus … no … no …NO!
I froze, holding so still my lungs started to burn, begging me to take a breath. But … I couldn’t breathe. I wasn’t sure I’d ever breathe again.
Those same teary eyes, that triggered the chain of events that day, stared at me. Glassy and lifeless. His arms rested on the table. One hand cupped a glass of whiskey with a half empty bottle next to it, and his other hand rested on … a gun.
In a blink, nearly six years of marriage bled from my eyes, washing away my hopes and drowning my dreams.
The eerie silence carved a deep hole into my soul. Where was Mrs. Humphrey? Where were the squealing kids? The crackling embers. The buzzer going off to remind me to take the cookies out of the oven.
The giggles.
Monster dad chasing after his little ones while making roaring sounds.
The whispers … the promises of all the things he planned to do to me when the kids were in bed.
I couldn’t hear my life.
Where did it go?
“I love you,” he whispered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ronin
Lila died.
No one told me. I just knew. Around six p.m., I veered off the road on my way home from work.
My head.
My ribs.
My back.
My leg.
Then … nothing.
No physical pain. And the world fell dead silent. No ringing in my ears. I couldn’t feel her anymore.
Lila died.
I cheated on my wife with her best friend. And she … died.
When I finally made it home, I realized the depression and desire to leave my problems behind—to leave this world—were no longer just Lila’s. They were mine. I purchased the gun while feeling Lila’s depression. I never imagined I’d use it without her influence over me. But that day in the library changed that. Her sins became mine and mine became hers. We would never be able to separate that. To make things right with Evelyn.
So …
I chose death over the truth.
I chose death over hurting my family.
I chose death over seeing that look in Evelyn’s eyes.
I’d been on borrowed time for years. It was past my time to leave.
“NO!” She gritted her teeth as the first sob ripped from her chest. “You do NOT get to say that to me now!” Tears covered her cheeks as her body shook.
A last straw. A final breath. That was what we agreed upon. We’d say it when there was absolutely nothing else to say.
I hurt her.
I lied.
I cheated.
I could never make things right.
There was nothing left to say.
And I refused to say something as pathetic as sorry.
I gave her the truth. She deserved it.
“I touched Lila.”
Her hand covered her mouth as if she could keep the pain captive. “What does that mean?” She choked on another sob.
The muscles in my face twitched, fraught with fear of hurting her. I had no choice. Nothing remained except hurt.
“We crossed a line.”
Her gaze flitted to my hand clenching the gun, and her hand slowly slid from her mouth. “You had sex.”
I shook my head slowly. “Almost.”
“W-why?” Her brow wrinkled as her head inched side to side.
On a hard swallow I blinked a new round of tears as my face contorted into as much pain and confusion as Evie’s. “Because I felt her feelings for me. And it triggered something. Like a drug. Like driving under the influence.”
Peeling the matted hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ears, she sniffled and hiccupped a ragged breath. “She let it happen too?” More emotion, more tears filled her eyes. “Why?” She choked out the word.
“I don’t know.”
Rubbing her quivering lips together, her eyes swept across the room, pausing on things like photos and Franz’s books in a neat pile on the coffee table. “So …” She drew in another shaky breath, sliding her sad eyes to me. “You’re leaving us.”