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“You saw her bruises, Winston.” Grace sounded horrified. “The scar on her back.”
“We don’t know if it was Martin who did it, my dear.”
A enraged snort of disbelief left my nose.
“Those are his initials,” Grace said. Winston might be in denial, but his wife wasn’t. “He did it. You know he did. He’s never been right since he interned with Jay Strader and had that fling with his daughter. That girl in Mira’s bed is proof.”
“Circumstantial evidence,” Winston grumbled.
Grace blew out a breath. “Hear her out, that’s all I ask. Before you decide what we should do.”
Listening, I found it surprising Grace had any sway over her husband.
As they entered the room, I struggled to sit up. Bright light flooded the space when Winston flipped on the wall switch as he walked in, now fully attired in his usual three-piece suit.
“You’re awake.” His gaze finding mine, he stated the obvious.
“Yes.” I clutched the comforter to my chest. “I’m sorry I fainted on you.”
“Grace put you in Miranda’s pajamas,” he said.
“Thank you.” The flannel was soft, warming me. I gave his wife a grateful glance.
“You’re welcome.” She nodded once.
Winston glanced at her sharply. “Leave us, Grace.”
“I want to stay.”
He turned his head, hitting her with the full force of his displeasure. That look was familiar. But she didn’t react like I did to Martin.
“Very well,” she muttered after a brief stare-down. “I’ll make some hot tea and come right back.”
Winston didn’t acknowledge her words or follow her with his gaze as she departed. Moving to my side of the bed, his shadow blocked the overhead light.
“What is the real reason you left my son?”
“He hurt me.” I clutched the comforter tighter.
“Did he give you those bruises?”
“Yes.” I nodded. Of course he did.
“The scar on your back?” Winston fired another question at me without showing emotion. I wondered if this was how he’d been trained to act in law school.
“He did it with a pocketknife.” I shuddered at the memory, the cold slice of the stainless steel, the warm seeping of my blood from my carved skin.
“What else?” he asked in the same dispassionate manner, and I had the thought that maybe this wasn’t the first time Martin had done something like this.
“You don’t really want to know.” My brows rose. “Do you?”
“Grace thinks he’s been abusing you for some time now.”
“She’s right.” I tilted my head. “But you don’t want her to know. You keep her in the dark about how he is. What he does. But you know.”
“Yes.” Winston nodded. “I do.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” I said, holding his gaze. “But in exchange, you have to protect me from him.”
