Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Instinct tells me she’s being hurt, that someone is taking something she isn’t offering, but her fingernails dig into his back, her legs tightening around his waist. When her mouth opens, it isn’t my name on her lips.
I yell for her to stop. I beg her to tell me this isn’t happening, but all I get is a brief smile before her eyes roll back in pleasure.
“I’m bored.”
My eyes jerk to the side, finding a little boy standing there beside me.
I want to cry. He shouldn’t see things like this, but he’s slowly fading away as I reach for him.
The bed is empty, only the tangled sheets left behind to prove the adultery I just witnessed.
“Are we having leftovers for dinner again?” she asks. As I turn around, I see Angeline standing back at the sink in the kitchen, her hands buried in soapy water as she washes the dishes.
“Don’t make a mess,” the calming voice chides. “And yes, we’re having leftovers. We’re saving money, remember?”
I shake my head because I don’t remember a damn thing.
Is it a dream? It has to be. She couldn’t be in bed with another man one second and washing dishes the next, right?
“You don’t look well. Do you need a nap?” Angeline asks, her voice growing distant, as if she’s speaking the words into a tunnel.
I turn away from her, startled at my own shadow on the wall. Only it isn’t my shadow at all, I realize, as it looms taller. I look down a second too late, my foot already caught on the toy motorcycle Angeline was complaining about earlier.
My eyes close as I topple. My arms out in front of me to brace my fall.
The floor never stops me. It’s another endless pit.
“It won’t be like this forever,” the soft voice assures me. “Everything is going to work out exactly like it’s supposed to. I promise.”
Chapter 3
Sunshine
“I’m bored,” Ryder mutters from the other side of the room.
“I heard you the first time, kiddo.”
My son looks up from his tablet. I know he’s annoyed that there’s only one movie downloaded onto it, but he was instructed earlier today to add more. Him not listening is his own problem, not mine.
I feel like a jerk for even thinking those thoughts, but if I hand over my phone every time he doesn’t listen, I’m telling him it’s fine that he doesn’t do what he’s told.
“Gammy will be here after she gets done with bingo.”
“I want to stay with Daddy on bingo nights,” he grumbles.
I ignore his request. I know time doesn’t track the same way for children as it does for adults. Ryder has been going to liaison-supervised visits with his dad for the last several months. I wouldn’t doubt it if the child can’t even remember why there has to be someone else in the room when he sees his father.
I honestly hope he doesn’t. He wasn’t exactly terrified by the time I made it to the police station after Travis was arrested for a DUI while Ryder was in the car. The officers who had him were great. They talked with him, got him a milkshake from downtown, and even let him turn on the siren in one of the patrol cars. It’s all he talked about for weeks. He loved the time he got to spend with them.
I, on the other hand, had to meet with a caseworker who dug so deep into my life it left me feeling like I was the one who was arrested.
Travis and I were still together then. Well, we were as together as two people could be who hadn’t really spoken to each other for months. His drinking had gotten worse after he lost his job for too many absences. There was a lot of tension in the home, and honestly, there were days when he wasn’t back before dark that I wished he’d just stay away forever. The life we built looked nothing like the one he promised we’d have. The partying and staying out late was supposed to end after I got pregnant, and it did for one of us.
Travis has always been bitter, citing more than once that he made the wrong choice—that choice being staying with me after I found out I was pregnant. He never says those things when he’s sober, but the problem with that is I can’t remember the last time we spoke that he hadn’t been drinking.
In high school, it was thrilling that he was always able to get a bottle of liquor or a couple of cases of beer. He was popular for that reason alone, always looking older than he actually was. Everyone loved him. I especially did. He was kind to me back then, always had a smile for me. His childhood was no better or worse than mine, but what we lacked in attention from our single parents, we found in each other.