Page 142 of Angel

The constant, churning misery made it impossible to sleep or find a comfortable position.

I couldn’t bear the thought of socializing or working until the first trimester was over.

Then came the staggering fatigue at week nine, when any physical exertion felt harder than ever.

Worse of all, though, was dealing with my residual feelings about Angel.

I was freakin’ pissed off at how gullible he’d been over the years regarding my sister.

I also confronted my buried anger toward Evangeline.

For years, she lashed out, her behavior sliding deeper into entitlement, narcissism, and abuse.

Reese’s pressure on her to be perfect didn’t help, but that was no excuse.

Her trauma was an explanation, sure, but not a rationale for destroying my marriage.

She did not deserve my forgiveness or my understanding.

Not now.

Not freakin’ ever.

ANGEL

Rattling around my house without Roxy was the worst penance possible.

I hated every second.

Her absence showed how much I had taken her presence for granted.

She was kind and sweet, and she tempered my brooding edges.

Plus, she was sexy as hell; our lovemaking was wild, euphoric, and out of this world.

Being without her was killing me.

I tried calling and texting her again, almost once or twice a day, and got nothing in return.

I gave in and called Elsa to ask where her daughter was.

‘She told me to tell you she’s fine and very safe, Angel,’ her mother said with the same gentle cadence that reminded me so much of my wife.

‘So you know where she is.’

‘I do, but I can’t say.’

‘Is she well and safe?’

‘She is.’

A wild tear hit me. ‘Is she with anyone else?’

‘Angel, really? You know Roxy is better than that.’

I did, and I might have pushed Elsa to tell me more, but that would have been disrespectful.

No doubt it would have also gotten back to Roxy, so I rang off with a heavy heart.