Chapter 3: A Wife in Name Only

My heart hammered in my chest. I pressed a finger to my lips and whispered, “Shh, she just fell asleep.”

He leaned in closer, voice impatient: “I know, just focus.”

His words were slurred, his hands clumsy. The room spun with the smell of cheap liquor and old furniture.

But he’d had too much to drink, and nothing happened that night. I felt a strange relief and a strange sadness all at once.

We both ended up sitting there in awkward silence, listening to the wind rattle the window. He fell asleep on the couch, and I tucked a blanket around his shoulders before crawling back to bed with Holly.

The next day, Holly rested her chin on her hands and asked me:

“Mom, what were you and Dad doing last night?”

She had that look—half innocent, half mischievous—like she already knew the answer would make me squirm. Sometimes I think she’s smarter than all of us put together.

Robert happened to walk by. The two of us exchanged glances, cheeks burning, wishing we could both disappear.

He turned red as a tomato and nearly dropped his coffee. I just stared at my shoes, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.

That night, Robert told Holly she had to sleep in her own room again.

He tried to sound stern, but his voice cracked. Holly pouted but didn’t argue. I tucked her in, kissed her forehead, and promised I’d see her in the morning.

Robert and I sat around the food and wine Mrs. Carter sent over. Both our faces turned red. I said, “Honey, this isn’t the first time. Why are you still blushing?”

The meal was rich—roast chicken, buttery potatoes, a bottle of wine that tasted too expensive for a weeknight. I teased him, trying to lighten the mood, but my own cheeks were burning.

He glared at me.

“Idiot, there’s something in the food and wine Grandma gave us!”

He pointed at the half-empty glass, eyes wide. For a second, we both just stared, then burst out laughing. Leave it to Mrs. Carter to meddle in her grown son’s love life.

Mrs. Carter, who always doted on me, almost did me in this time.

I couldn’t help but shake my head. She meant well, but she sure had a funny way of showing it. I made a mental note to avoid her desserts for a while.

Robert had held back for so long that when he finally let loose, I nearly fainted twice that night. I never knew he had it in him.

The world spun in a haze of warmth and laughter. For the first time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, this could be real.

The next morning, when we went to say good morning, Mrs. Carter saw how tired I looked and how chipper Robert was, and she finally looked satisfied.

She gave us both a sly smile, like she’d just won a bet. I tried to hide my yawn behind my hand, but she saw right through me.

Holly bit into a soft roll and asked with her mouth full:

“Mom, why are your eyes all dark? Did Dad hit you last night?”

She was always blunt, never afraid to say what was on her mind. I nearly choked on my coffee.

Robert and I looked at each other again, mortified.

He coughed into his napkin, and I tried to change the subject. But Holly just giggled, thinking she’d said something hilarious.

Before we were truly together, Robert was like an older brother. When I took Holly to catch minnows in the little creek, he’d hand us watermelon slices from the bank.

Those were the best days—bare feet in the mud, the sun warm on our backs. Robert would sit on the bank, slicing watermelon with his pocketknife, handing us cold, juicy wedges while we splashed in the water.