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Em’s voice comes from the front door. Kellan’s low voice tells her something, probably to let her know Troy and I need time alone. She’s here to drop off some of my clothes and toiletries.
The front door clicks shut, and a moment later, the sound of two engines can be heard driving away.
Troy doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the gentle weight of his gaze on me.
I continue staring at my lap. “I’m married.”
A sharp inhalation, heavy with questions, cuts through the air, but I still don’t look up.
“Well, more specifically,” I clarify, “I’m a widow.”
I shift my attention to Bailey, as if telling her my next words will help the truth go down easier. “My husband was a cop. He was also abusive.” I draw air through my nose like Robyn taught me to do and release it. I can do this. “He wasn’t at first. He made me feel loved at a time when I thought I was unlovable. My parents didn’t want me. My grandparents were the ones who showed me what love was. And I thought my husband loved me too.”
“I’m sorry your parents made you feel that way,” Troy says, his quiet voice slightly rough. “And I’m sorry about your husband.”
I nod but still can’t look at him. “I have lots of wonderful and fond memories of being with him, especially in the beginning. Which only made it harder for me to leave. I kept remembering those times and doubting myself. I believed his lies, his empty apologies. He had a way of causing me to convince myself that I deserved his mean words. I really did think everything he did was my fault. And if I did better next time, everything would be fine.”
I shake my head, remembering how foolish I’d been—how I’d naïvely believed his words.
Or perhaps it was hope that kept me there—hope that one day things would be different.
“In time, he made it more and more difficult for me to visit my grandmother, and he isolated me from my friends.” The friends I had before I married him. “I didn’t realize it until I tried to escape him after my grandmother died. I had no money—well, no money I could easily access at the time. I had nowhere to turn. And because he was a cop, he made it impossible for me to leave.” I never truly became friends with the wives and girlfriends of his friends and colleagues. Maybe he also had a hand in that too. I don’t know.
I can’t explain to Troy how my late husband made it impossible for me to leave. To do so means revealing the one thing I’m not ready to discuss yet—Amelia.
My husband had used her as a pawn. Leave him, and I would lose my parental rights. No judge would grant me custody. I didn’t know if what he’d told me was true or if he’d been bullshitting his way to have complete control over me. I couldn’t take the risk in case he was telling me the truth.
So I’d stayed.
Stayed and prayed one day his job would kill him. Maybe it did in the end.
“You said you’re a widow,” Troy says, his voice still rough, still soft. “What happened to your husband?”
“Someone broke into the house and murdered him. I was there at the time. But I’d been drugged, and the cops and DA decided it was a failed murder-suicide. With me as the murderer.” I finally drag my gaze from Bailey to Troy. Bailey jumps down from the couch. “They figured I botched my own suicide.”
“Shit.” The word is a soft breath. “Did the cops ever figure out who did kill him?”
“No. Whoever murdered my husband did a great job of framing me. I was found guilty and spent five years in prison before the police realized their mistake.” I shift my gaze back to Bailey. She’s playing with one of Butterscotch’s chew toys. “Five years branded a cop killer. Five years of being attacked by inmates and ignored by guards.”
I can feel the door to my soul shutting with a resounding boom. I’m in an empty cell. No furniture. No pictures. No toilet. Nothing but the familiar cold that filled me for all those years.
My body, my arms, my hands shake—adrenaline fueled from ten years of memories. “I-I…” I can’t get the words out. I’m shivering too much.
Troy grabs a plaid throw from behind him on the couch. His mother gave it to him for Christmas. I haven’t even met his parents—and I probably won’t now.
Five years. Five years spent in prison, and I’d changed into a different person. A person who’d given up hope. Who’d expected each day to be her last—and had abandoned the will to live after giving away her parental rights for her daughter.
Kellan’s family didn’t turn their backs on him after he spent time in prison.
But I’m not part of their family.
I might not be a murderer, but I have done time in a maximum-security correctional facility. I’m not the kind of woman you introduce to your mom.
Troy spreads the throw over my shoulders. I pull it around me, shielding myself from more pain. I flash him a sad smile.
A loud squeeeeeeaaaaaak fills the living room. Bailey is shaking a fire-hydrant chew toy and looking adorably silly.
An unexpected laugh spills over my panic-dried lips. The sound comes out less of a full-fledged laugh and closer to a tear-choked giggle.
