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“You also haven’t once said I’m not.”
We stare each other down before he leaves the room and I hear his footsteps on the stairs.
I fall backward onto the bed, close my eyes, and pinch the bridge of my nose.
If my own husband doesn’t believe me, how will I convince anyone else that I’m not losing my mind?
ChapterSeventeen
When I open my eyes, the sun is lower in the sky and the room is dimming. I have no idea how I managed to fall asleep when my nerves are as shot as they are.
Downstairs, Peter is eating the cooked casserole with Nadia, Owen, and Sophie.
He sets his fork down. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“It’s fine.” I sit in my spot, which has a plate already, and I scoop some food onto it even though I’m not really hungry. My body needs fuel even if I don’t feel like it. “What did Megan say?”
“About what?” Peter’s brows draw together in confusion.
“Me being with her at the Mexican restaurant this afternoon.” I’m careful with my wording, not wanting to upset any of the kids.
“Oh, that. Yeah, it was just like you said.”
“Shocker.” I stuff a forkful of food in my mouth.
He gives me an annoyed glance.
I don’t care. If he doesn’t believe me, I don’t have to pretend I’m not offended or hurt.
Nadia glances between the two of us. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” we both say in unison.
“Whatever.” She finishes her food then leaves the table without another word.
Sophie takes that as her cue and scrambles away. A cartoon blasts from another room.
Owen is oblivious to all the emotional unrest around him, making airplane noises as he feeds himself. To be four again.
Peter makes eye contact with me. “You can’t blame me for being confused.”
“You should have believed me without needing to verify what I told you.”
He frowns. “You have to admit the video is convincing.”
“It isn’t real. Someone doctored it. That’s the only explanation.”
“But that’s a lot of work to go to, and you have to admit it’s strange that not only did the receptionist swear that was you, but the kidsandyour mom. Wouldn’t your own mother know you?”
“You’d think. But so should my kids. Not to mention my husband.”
Peter presses his palms on the table. “I do know—and believe—you, but I’m also trying to make sense of everything. And given what we know about your dad and brother—”
“Donotgo there.”
“You can’t ignore the facts, Angelina.”
“In other words, I’m a sociopath.”
