Chapter 1
Kyle
Now
Ispend a lot of time wondering how I ended up here—inthislife. To the outside world, it looks like white picket fence perfection—a loving partner of seventeen years, a beautiful daughter, a lavish house overlooking the bay… Yeah, you getthe picture. It may seem like I’m living a dream life, but truth be told, I’m hollow and empty, like a carcass picked clean. Sometimes I try to pinpoint the exact moment when I ceased being a piece of white trash from the Pines and became an uppity beachside prick. But it’s all a blur once you’re on that slippery slope. Once upon a time I appreciated shoes without holes, and now I’m that guy who complains at five-star restaurants.
Staring out the window of my top-of-the-line Range Rover, I have a clear view of the netball court. My fifteen-year-old daughter, Lucinda, has just finished her training session, and is slipping on her designer sports jacket as the girls around her hang off her every word. She’s the princess, the golden girl, and there’s the smallest part of me, squashed down deep inside, that is embarrassed by her. Ashamed even. If I’m being honest, sheisa spoilt brat. The product of a life too easy. James has already promised her a brand-new BMW for her sixteenth birthday, and, once she has her license, it will be bye-bye Daddy. I won’t be needed anymore, long forgotten, discarded like last season’s fashion. Honestly, I’m not needed now, except for chauffeuring her and her friends around.
I’ve come to understand why some women don’t have any interest in staying home to raise kids. Parenting can be such a god-awful, thankless task. I’d even label myself as a feminist at this point. I loved being a dad the first five years; that precious time when your child looks at you like you are the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the universe. With cute, chubby fingers gripping onto your hand for dear life, sloppy kisses, and heart eyes staring up at you like you can do no wrong. But then they go to school, and life becomes a mundane routine: cleaning the house, shopping, school runs, activities, playdates, and, before you know it, they’re teenagers, judging you for every damn thing they know absolutely fuck all about.
A call comes through the Bluetooth, and I tap accept.
“Hey, honey,” I say flatly.
“Hi, darling. Are you on your way home yet?” James’s pompous voice fills the car with a sickly sweetness that further sours my mood. I can’t believe I once thought it was sexy.
“Just waiting for Lu to finish netball practice.”
“Could you pick up my dry cleaning on the way home? I believe it was ready last Friday.”
That’s true—it wasready last Friday. Like I give a fuck. But James can’t pick up his own dry cleaning because he’s too busy being a hotshot lawyer.
“Yeah, sure thing,” I say, barely masking my annoyance. “See you at home.”
I hang up without waiting for my husband’s reply. MaybeI’mthe asshole. Maybe I need my meds adjusted. Maybe I should stop blaming everything on my mental illness.
I lean back against the headrest, closing my eyes.
Brendan.
His name lingers, both bitter and sweet on my tongue, just as it does every single day. Too grievous to speak aloud and yet impossible to swallow down.
Lucinda opens the passenger door, jolting me back to reality.
“Hey Dad.”
“Hey Lu. How was practice?”
“Fine.” Lucinda dramatically rolls her eyes as only a teen can. “What do you care, anyway?”
And she’s off. I sigh. “Just interested, pumpkin,” I say, trying to hold it together. “Papa needs me to pick up his dry cleaning on the way home.”
“Come on, Dad. I have homework to do,” she whines.
“It will only take five minutes. And stop complaining. You sound like an entitled little brat.”
“Jesus, Dad, why don’t you get a fucking job and stop acting like a bored tradwife?”
“Watch your language,” I warn, glaring at her, but already regretting my harsh words.
Lu pushes her AirPods into her ears and cranks the music up so loudly that I can hear the song lyrics. The entire drive to the dry cleaners—then all the way home—makes me want to scream bloody murder. But I don’t. I just occasionally glance at Lu’s iPhone screen, catching glimpses of what she’s looking at. TikTok. Snapchat. The usual.
What she said hit a nerve because Iamthe equivalent of a bored housewife. Recently, I’ve wanted to return to work again, but every time I’ve brought it up with James, he’s shot me down.
You’ve been out of the workforce too long; no one will hire you.
Who will run the house and get Lucinda to all her activities?
