Page 125 of The Professor's Wife

I didn’t deserve him.

I was too young.

I hurt him.

I was a mess.

Even June had told me that once.

“You’re such a mess, Daisy.”

Some of her final words were about how similar I was to our mother.

“You remember how crazy Mom was? Well, you get this glazed look in your eye, Daisy, when you run away with your feelings. It reminds me of her. You’re not yourself in those moments. There’s nothing I can do to bring you back to me.”

When I was done cleaning, I sat on the couch in the dark, my heart beating a million miles a minute as I waited for them to return.

I prayed the entire time that my world wasn’t over.

And when they still didn’t return, I finally stood up and worked on myself. I combed and straightened my hair. I washed my face, moisturized my skin, and applied makeup.

I put on one of Oliver’s favorite outfits of mine: a yellow, cap-sleeved dress that ended just above my knee.

Then I began to work on a meal in the kitchen. I put together a pretty salad. Skinned and sliced some potatoes to fry for Rowe. Prepped three medium-sized salmon fillets for the air fryer.

If he was going to come back and dump me, I could at least appear sane. I would want him to hesitate at least a little bit when he saw me. To consider whether he wanted to truly go through with leaving me.

Then again, I doubted any of this would do a thing. Doubted I brought anything equal to the relationship.

This was a man women threw themselves at. A man who was impossible to ensnare because his options were so grand, and someone like me could never truly be part of his world.

They arrived minutes before the food was done. I had plates on the island, ready. I had Rowe’s tall glass of orange juice and Oliver’s wine glass at each place setting on the dining table.

Only one wine glass, and it was empty.

I didn’t have the stomach to touch the wine bottle, knowing the carnage I’d inflicted.

Within moments, Rowe breezed in ahead of Oliver, shouting his hellos to me. He didn’t pay any attention to me as he proclaimed how hungry he was. I quickly plated his food, and he dug in.

As I hovered over him, setting a napkin beside his plate, Oliver appeared.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him for a few moments, though his presence hung heavy in the air. My heart beat faster as I spun around and shakily returned to the kitchen to plate his food.

I risked a glance his way, and my heart sank in my chest.

He stood at the edge of the kitchen, a wary expression on his face as he took in the scene. The clean room. The cooked food. The table was set up and ready.

His eyes shot to mine next, and then they fell over me, taking me in. His wariness merged with warmth, but I could feel the hesitation in him.

I looked away, taking deep breaths as I returned to the table and sat down next to Rowe. He was already halfway through his food, telling me between bites how his day was. He’d splashed in puddles. Eaten ice cream at the dock. Jumped at the bouncy castle at a play center.

The list went on.

As he spoke, my attention split, focusing on Oliver’s every move. He walked into the kitchen, and then minutes later, he joined the table. He spoke only to Rowe, his voice animated and brilliant.

All too soon, it was over, and Rowe was racing off, leaving crumbs on the plate as he ran up the stairs and to his playroom.

Silence settled in.