Page 124 of The Professor's Wife

Tears filled his eyes.

“But then you groaned and you moved, and that was when you started to calm down, telling me you’d made a mistake to ever want me. You fell asleep on the kitchen floor, and I…I had to pick you up and carry you here.”

Now I was vomiting again, but this time it was out of shock and disgust. My body shook so violently, I couldn’t calm myself. Tears streamed down my face. I felt like I was in a nightmare.

“I don’t remember that, Oliver…Oh, my God. Oliver, please forgive me. Oh, my God. Oh, my God…”

Oliver didn’t come to me. He just stood there, still staring at the door. “I need a minute, alright, Daisy? I just need to process.”

“I didn’t mean any of it—”

“I’m going to take Rowe to the waterfront. He wants to play in the puddles, and you can clean yourself up while we’re gone.”

He left the bathroom without another word or backward glance.

This had to be a nightmare.

I curled my knees to my chest and sobbed.

I stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes were swollen and red. I had a bruise on my cheek, and the left side of my head was throbbing.

I took my clothes off and looked at my body in the mirror. There was a mark on my left hip, and when I looked at my butt, I could see the darkening bruises on my skin. I nearly fainted at the sight of me, shocked by my behavior, by the vile words I’d spewed.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I thought of my mother when she lost it at my father. She drove him out the door, and even as we buried her years later, I remembered thinking,I hate you.

Those weren’t normal thoughts to have about your mother, even though she was abusive to the end. Did she black out like I had?

I must have had her sickness.

The thought made me want to crumble.

I should have called someone. Gone to the hospital. But then I would have had to explain what I had done, and I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone seeing me like this.

I rinsed off in the shower. I threw on a pair of pajamas and painfully managed my way around the apartment. Every step was painful. I winced as I stepped out of the bedroom, and I hated how empty it felt. I would have loved to see Rowe splashing in some puddles in the rain.

I nearly collapsed at the sight of the kitchen.

It was a bombsite. The stool was still on its side, and there was glass on the floor. I walked around it, staring into the living room next.

One wine glass sat on the coffee table untouched.

Oliver’s glass.

There was a blanket on the sofa, and it was crumpled up. The vase I had on one of the coffee tables was turned over, a tissue box was on the floor, and my bookshelf was half empty because most of my titles were scattered across the room, like I’d thrown them everywhere.

I tried to remember how crazy I felt.

And I sort of did.

I felt the memories at the edges of my thoughts. Being in the room, I felt panicked. I could hear myself screaming in a memory, and I stopped thinking of it right away, too shell-shocked and ashamed.

I cleaned up slowly, my tears decorating every part of the room I’d destroyed.

Oliver was going to leave me.

June was right.