Page 26 of His Wounded Heart

“With my key. I have keys to all of my residences.”

She took a long inhale of her cigarette then blew it out as I tried to understand what she meant.

“This condominium belongs to Brantley Harris.”

“And I’m Brantley’s wife.”

I took a step backward, and I thought I might fall. “You can’t be. She’s dead.”

“That was his first wife, Eloise. I’m his second wife, Carla. Brantley and I have been married for five years, didn’t he tell you about me?”

I kept taking steps backwards until I hit the credenza and I leaned against it.

“That’s not right, you can’t be. Brantley can’t be married,” I whispered.

“Sure he can.”

“But-t-t he’s my b-b-boyfriend.”

The woman started to laugh, and she kept laughing. “That is so delicious. I can’t believe that one of Brantley’s whores just called him her boyfriend. Have you ever called him that to his face?”

I shook my head.

“For fuck’s sake. He’s fifty-four years old, and what are you? Legal I hope. Tell me you’re at least eighteen.”

It was so cold, my teeth began to chatter. I nodded my head.

“Do you think you’re the first whore he’s shacked up with here in his little love nest?”

It was like she stuck a knife in my gut.

Whore?

“I didn’t know,” I struggled to get the words out. “He was married. I swear.”

“You dumb cow, one little internet search would have told you. Are you telling me you didn’t look him up? I don’t believe you.”

She crushed her cigarette out on the glass coffee table. Would it scar?

She sauntered over toward me.

“You’re past your sell-by date, Trenda. I want you to pack your happy ass up and crawl back under whatever rock you came from. Do you understand me?”

She was in my face as she said those last words. I couldn’t say anything. I was in too much pain.

“Fine, don’t talk. Nod your head.”

I nodded my head.

She reached up and patted my cheek. “What a good little whore.”

I click on the email. You and your daughter need to stay in Jasper Creek. My glass of water topples off the table as I jerk back in my chair and yelp.

I clamp my hand over my mouth, thanking God that Bella isn’t home. I go to the kitchen and get two towels to sop up the water. At least the glass isn’t broken; luckily it had hit the rug, not the linoleum.

Why would Carla or Brantley be doing this to me? Carla was the one who called me a whore and Brantley knew I was from Jasper Creek.

Why is this happening?