“Never. I sent you divorce papers. Just sign them and we’ll both get on with our lives.”
“No. You’re my wife. You always will be. You’ll never belong to anyone else, Sophie. Remember that.”
He’d never been overtly possessive or jealous. If anything, he’d encouraged me to wear the dress I thought was a little too short or the top that showed more cleavage than I liked. But then when guys paid attention, he made me feel guilty, like it was my fault they stared. Mind games were his specialty, and he’d worn me down over time.
There wasn’t anything else I wished to say to him, so I hung up. As soon as the screen lit up with his name again, I powered down the device.
In all the years I’d been with Mitch, before and during our marriage, he’d never hit me. He’d grabbed my wrist twice and my arm three times. He shoved me against the wall during an argument one time but allowed me to walk away unscathed.Allowed. He never should’ve cornered me in the first place. Technically, he didn’t physically abuse me, not in the same way a lot of women were mistreated. After talking over my situation with my family, I understood that my ex should’ve never laid a finger on me in anger—that that in itself was abuse—but when I compared my situation to others I’d read about, I’d been lucky.
Instinctually, my hand rested over my belly. My observation wasn’t as cut and dry as I liked to project. Perhaps “lucky” wasn’t the correct word. Was it lucky to have your husband manipulate you, gaslight you, and alienate you from your family and friends? It was the little things, the offhand comments, the backward compliments, the questions about where my loyalties were that built over time, became my norm.
Categorizing my thoughts mentally drained me, so instead, I dove into a memory of a time I’d been happy, and it hadn’t been that long ago. Although, my happiness had been fleeting.
I’d received news I’d waited for since first marrying Mitch. Pregnant. Ten Weeks. Abby used to tease me because my goal was to become a mother, even when I’d been a little girl. She couldn’t understand why I’d want to be saddled with a little one when I had my whole life in front of me. My baby sister was the exact opposite of me. She lived freely, with no rules or restrictions. I envied her sometimes, but I couldn’t fight how I was built.
So, when I got the unbelievable news, I was beyond thrilled. I’d rushed home and paced the kitchen, waiting for my husbandto get home from work. The moment he came through the door, my mood switched to match his. He’d had a hard day at work. It had been written all over his face and in the way he’d looked right through me when his eyes had connected with mine.
It wasn’t until after I left him that I realized how much his moods had affected mine. I hadn’t allowed myself to be happy until I knew he was. I’d spent my days walking on eggshells so I wouldn’t say the wrong thing or use the wrong tone.
Even though I’d tamped down my excitement, he’d been able to read me that day, and when he asked me what was up, I blurted that we were going to be parents. Mitch’s sullen face fell even harder, and instead of wrapping me in his arms and sharing in my joy, he walked by me and told me to get rid of it.
We’d talked about children, and he’d always given me the “someday” speech, but when faced with reality, he’d bailed on me and in the cruelest of ways.
When I refused to abort our child, I found myself at the bottom of the steps two weeks later. I could now finally say with certainty that he’d pushed me, even though at the time, he made me believe I’d tripped over my feet while walking down the staircase. Later that day, when I’d gotten the news that the fall caused a miscarriage, I’d caught a glimpse of a smile on Mitch’s face.
Everything else, even the forced miscarriage, I might’ve been able to forgive in time, but it was the wicked and evil grin on his face at the loss of our baby that turned everything around for me. For the first time in years, I’d seen him clearly. The day after being discharged from the hospital, I packed up what I could and moved out.
A shiver ran through me at the memory, and all I wanted to do was take a shower.
The hot spray of the water was just what the doctor ordered, relieving me of more than the stress coiled deep in mymuscles. My anxiety, trepidation, and arousal at having worked so closely with Jackson earlier whirled around the drain before disappearing.
“I can’t believe I hugged him,” I mumbled right after spitting out a mouthful of water. “What is wrong with me?” When I’d grabbed on to him, my ear pressed against his chest, and although his body stiffened, his heart had thrashed against his rib cage. What did his reaction mean? Was I reading into something that simply wasn’t there? Why was I even thinking about—
“Owwww!” I shouted, jumping back from the showerhead. “Shit!” My palm connected with the tiled wall over and over, my skin stinging from the sudden change in water temperature. It was scalding. Reaching forward to adjust the nozzle did nothing but assault my arm with searing water. Another scream tore from my throat, and this time, instead of attempting to regulate the water again, I exited the shower, standing in the middle of my bathroom naked and dripping. Which would’ve been fine except seconds later, Jackson appeared in the doorway, looking frazzled.
I shrieked at seeing him and was slow to reach for a towel, my brain taking a moment to register the scene unfolding in front of me.
His eyes darkened as they swept over me, and suddenly, I was hot for a whole other reason. My inner voice screamed at me to snatch the towel flung over the rack, but for some reason, I couldn’t move. The entire encounter lasted seconds but felt like much longer.
“Sorry,” he grunted, spinning around and finally giving me privacy.
“What are you doing in my apartment?” I asked, wrapping the big blue towel securely around my body.
“I heard you scream, and then there was pounding on the wall. I thought you were in trouble.”
I shifted my wet hair over my shoulder, wringing out the bottom. “The water temperature changed to scalding.” Looking down at my pinkened flesh, I added, “It hurt. Caught me off guard.”
“Are you okay?”
“You can turn around now, and yes. It’s just the shock of it, you know?”
He nodded. “I can check your shower cartridge if you want.”
“I don’t know what that is, but sure. Thank you.” Jackson turned as if to leave, but I stopped him before he could. “How did you get in here? I locked the front door.”
“I have a key. I own the building, remember?”
“Oh.”
