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Don’t do it.
My feet are already pointed in her direction.
It would be easy to apologize. To tell her I’m an asshole and ask for her forgiveness.
Instead, I turn and head for the carpeted stairs.
13
BRANDI
I leftwhen he turned on the shower. I don’t know who the man is who walked in the door to the house, but that’s not my husband. The way he’d looked at me reignited every feeling I had of doubt, the memories of how he looked at me before the storm that changed my life.
I did send him a text letting him know I was safe and where I was going, though. Because I’m not heartless like him.
I probably shouldn’t be at my old house at night, not after the day I’ve had. Too many memories live here, bigger than before.
I didn’t think it would affect me like it is. That sense of monsters waiting, bad dreams no coat of paint can stop.
Then there’s the door.
It’s stupid feeling uneasy at home. Because that memory of the door shouldn’t be here. It should have slipped into the realms of dream and be nothing more than overreaction in the light of day. No one has been in. Everything lies undisturbed and with that faint musty scent of abandonment, even though it really hasn’t been long at all.
It seems like forever.
Maybe that’s it, the abandonment—it reminds me of growing up alone.
It seems like an entire lifetime ago.
“Don’t run from me, little girl.”
The monsters are there, chasing me through the shadows in the alley, like they do every night. I can’t wait to grow up. To find a place of my own. One I don’t have to share with anyone else.
“No.” I shake my head, getting rid of the memories as best as I can, especially with all of the uncertainties surrounding me.
I sit on the old sofa, a blanket pulled up around me, the lamp on the side table shining and scaring away the shadows of my nightmares. I should shut off the gas and electricity, but for some reason I don’t want to do that. It doesn’t cost much to keep it running and this place is…
A backup plan?
The thought feels strange but somehow right. That doesn’t change how startling it is to think that, though. To know it.
Because what if the marriage thing doesn’t work? What if Travis doesn’t actually want me? What if I’m not enough?
That’s the thing that lurks down deep inside, isn’t it? The fear that he doesn’t really want me. Yes, he married me, and I hadn’t even told him about the baby when he asked, but maybe it’s too much and I’m probably overthinking things.
I pick up a throw pillow and hug it to myself, huddling down into the blanket.
The tears well up and spill down and I can’t stop them from coming. With one hand I swipe them away, but they won’t stop. How can I feel so alone when I have a husband?
But he lied to me. Because I saw… I don’t know what I saw, only it had looked exactly like Travis and a more glamorous version of myself if I am being honest. To me, the woman is prettier, more feminine, not about to get fat with his baby. And damn it. That sets me off again. I hiccup down a small sob, trying to keep myself in check.
He’s a twin.
The logical part of my brain decides to kick in only after I spent the entire day panicking, and then got into a huge fight with him.
If his brother brought Jessica here, then why wouldn’t Travis mention it to me?
But I know why.
