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He was still squatting in front of the suitcase, and it was still wide open.Did he touch them?
“I will check the other suitcases.”
“No,” I said quickly. Who knew what he might see?
“It’s not my first time seeing a lady’s underwear, Chloe.”
I tried to act confused.
“This.” He held up my small black bra and lace underwear.
The nerve of this guy.
“Oh, that. You can close the suitcase when you’re done drooling over my undies.” I tried to joke, but he acted like he hadn’t heard anything.
“Can you please close the suitcase and leave?”
He did, but he walked to the other suitcases and searched for my pajamas. He threw them at me and left the room.
I grabbed one pillow. Covering my face, I screamed.
Tristan’s mom arrived a few minutes later in her designer fur jacket and yellow dress. She smiled at me as she entered the room.
“I will take it from here, honey,” she said to Tristan who stood at the doorway and waved him off.
“How are you, dear?”
“Miserable,” I replied, not returning the smile lighting up her pretty face.
“I know, and I’m sorry you feel that way. I wish things hadn’t turned out this way. Sorry about your family.”
“Save me the apologies. It won’t fix the damage your son has done.”
“Love is not easy, dear,” she said as she helped me take off my clothes.
“This isn’t about love. I don’t even know him!” I exclaimed, feeling the rush of anger.
She said nothing. I was sick of trying to explain myself to everyone.
She brought me a towel and pushed the wheelchair closer. She helped me get into the wheelchair and wheeled me to the bathroom.
She kept talking about Tristan as she helped me wash my body. I found myself crying as she washed my hair and hummed in a soft tone. Why was I missing my mom and wishing she were here for me instead? I was used to her lack of motherly affection, but I needed her to hold me and tell me she still loved me.
“Oh, dear, don’t cry,” Mrs. Sanchester whispered, stroking my hair and putting one arm around me in a hug.
I welcomed the hug. I desperately needed it.
“It’s okay, dear. Things will get better, I promise,” she whispered, and I tried to believe her.
Belvina calledthe next day during breakfast. Tristan had left early for work, so Morris was at my service. I answered the call with a mouthful of omelet.
“Hey, Vina.”
“Sorry I missed your call. How is it going with Tristan? Is he going to tell the truth?”
“Not yet, but soon. And I’m in a wheelchair.”
“A wheelchair? Did he break your legs?Ay Dios mio.Should I call your parents or report it to the cops?”
