Page 63 of Thin Lives

Emma sighed. “I am.”

“More than what you are.”

“It’s been a long week,” Emma said in explanation.

A long, sleepless week filled with anxiety and nightmares.

Sherry nodded. “I know, but it’s almost over. He’ll be home soon, and on the mend before you know it. No worries there. Affonso is nothing, if not capable of bouncing right back to his usual self.”

Emma had to hide her cringe with another bite.

His “usual self” was exactly the problem.

Maybe it made Emma a horrible, disgusting human being, but the very last thing she wanted was her husband to come home. She hadn’t wanted Affonso to survive at all after taking three bullets to the chest, but the man just wouldn’t die, it seemed. When everyone else was praying for Affonso’s health and recovery, Emma was praying for freedom from his manipulation and abuse.

And not just her own freedom.

No, she prayed for her son’s and for Calisto’s, too.

Yet, God didn’t hear.

Or he just didn’t care.

Emma wasn’t sure which one it was, but she had accepted one part of her truth a long time ago. The day she broke her marriage vows and started an affair with her husband’s secret son was the day she had become the bad guy in her own story. It didn’t matter what Affonso did to her, or how he treated her. She would always be the woman who stepped out on her husband. She would always be seen as the woman who became pregnant with her lover’s child; the woman who brought shame down on herself, her husband, and her baby.

Nothing more.

She was scared of others seeing her that way.

So, she did what she had to until she had another option. Until something else—Calisto, she hoped—came along to free her from the cage she was in with her marriage and her husband.

What else could she do?

“There you go again,” Sherry murmured. “Off into another world. Those concerns of yours are going to worry that little baby right out of you, Emma. And we can’t have that. He needs to cook a while longer yet.”

Emma came out of her depressing thoughts with a bang, and somehow, managed a laugh at the cook’s joke. “I know.”

“Don’t worry about Affonso.”

“I’m not,” Emma said.

Well, it wasn’t a total lie.

She wasn’t worrying about Affonso getting better—the bastard was already on the mend. She was worrying about what would happen when he got home. It wasn’t as if she had been doing anything wrong while he was away in the hospital recovering, but sometimes the stupidest things could set Affonso off.

As it was, he was a paranoid prick.

The less control he had, the worse he became.

Especially with Emma.

She didn’t exactly think that Affonso would be made of happiness and sunshine when his doctors gave him the all clear and sent him home to her. He would probably still be in pain, likely bed-ridden to a point, and no doubt, a major fucking hassle on both her physical and mental health.

That terrified her.

She was not in a good position to be fighting back against her husband’s usual attitudes and behavior. Her pregnancy was risky enough without adding the stress of an angry, irritable husband to the list.

Hadn’t she dealt with him enough?