Page 93 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother

I finally manage to find my voice. “What do you want, Jake?” It comes out as barely more than a squeak.

A crease appears in his forehead as if full of genuine concern. To anyone looking on, he would look so sincere. “You, Lennon. I want my wife back. In our home. I want everything to go back to normal before any of this nightmare started and you went crazy on me.”

My throat gets thick and I stare at him with horror. “You think we can just…go back? After this?”

“I don’t see why not.” A vein in his forehead pulses. “You’ll repent of your sins and come back home where you belong. Everyone understands a trial separation. Even the best marriages fall on tough times. I know Brianna misses you.”

I choke out a laugh of disbelief.

So I wasn’t the only one writing stories about the marriage.

He’s got an entire fiction going on in his head.

Only problem is, it has nothing to do with me.

Did he ever know me at all?

I guess it’s only fair, since I never knew him.

“And if I come home, you’ll what? Drop the charges? And testify at any custody hearing saying you tripped and accidentally fell through the window?”

Jake puts his elbows on the table and interlaces his fingers with a small nod. “I’d consider it.”

Which lights a fuse of rage inside me so fucking bright, I could burn this entire place down.

I place my palms down on the diner table and glare at him.

“No,” I say with a voice of iron. “Youwill. You will plead to any and every judge and in every affidavit that it was entirely a misunderstanding and none of it at all was your brother’s fault. And then andonlythen,” I raise a finger and point it directly in his stunned face, because he’s never seen me speak so directly or with such force, “I’ll forget I ever met your brother. You’ll havea wife moved back in your house and smiling at your side at church every Sunday.”

I shove out of the booth and glare back at him.

“Get it done,” I snap and walk out of the diner without looking back once.

TWENTY-FIVE

AUGUST

The medicationthey gave me has turned the room soft around the edges.

Not soft in a good way.

Soft like rot.

Like I could press my thumb into the painted cinder-block wall and leave an indentation. Like the fluorescent lights are floating several inches below the ceiling instead of being bolted into it. Every time I blink, they drag long white tails across my vision.

They gave me something after breakfast.

Then something else when I asked what the first thing was. It’s one of the terrible things about med holds like this—they fuck up your normal meds routines and your routine in general and call ithelping you.

I remember the nurse saying the name of what it was, but the word slid apart before it reached me. Too many syllables. Too much saliva gathering under my tongue.

Now my arms weigh a thousand pounds, but there’s an electrical current running beneath my skin. My body is exhausted. My mind is zappy and sprinting.

I’ve been pacing anyway.

Seven steps from the bed to the door.

Seven steps back.