“Lore told you?” I whisper.
He jerks his chin toward the corner of the garage. “She didn’t know how to deal with that. So, she called me.”
My stomach turns to ice. I move toward where he’s pointing. There’s a large black trash bag shoved against a stack of boxes, one I didn’t notice earlier in the chaos of the fight.
My hands shake as I pull it open.
Empty bottles fill the bag.
Harvey’s voice cuts through the silence behind me.
“You have a drinking problem, Patrick. And it’s time to face it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lorelie
Calling your brother-in-law to deal with your cheating, lying, secretly-drinking husband might look like the easy way out, but it’s anything but. Right now I’m bathing my five-year-old because I’m simply not ready to face Patrick yet.
“Mommy,” Milo says from the tub.
“Yeah, buddy?” I answer, rinsing the shampoo from his curls. He squeezes his eyes shut, scrunching up his whole face. I pour clean water over him, washing the suds away. His eyes pop open again, bright and curious.
“When will my baby sister get here?”
I smile at his pouty little expression. “Not for a few more months, bud.”
Helping him stand, I pour warm water down his back, clearing the bubbles clinging to his skin. Once he’s wrapped in a fluffy towel, he looks up at me, suddenly serious.
“Will you still love me then?”
I freeze. My heart twists. I crouch to his level and brush wet hair from his forehead. “Of course I will, baby.”
His whole face lights up with relief. “And Daddy too?”
My throat closes, but I force the smile and the nod. “Him too.”
“Okay,” he says with the pure innocence only a child can have.
In his bedroom, I help him into his pajamas and take my time drying his hair. I keep running the towel over the same spot, pretending it’s still damp.
“Mommy, it’s done,” he says, gently pushing my hand away.
“Right.” I blink, hang the towel on the rack, and bite my lip to keep the sudden sting in my eyes from escaping.
“I’m hungwy,” Milo says, impatience creeping into his tone.
I take a steadying breath and glance at myself in the bathroom mirror. I will not break. Not in front of him.
Nodding, I take my son’s hand and we walk downstairs together. I get dinner started, moving through the motions on autopilot. The house feels quiet, except the sounds of Milo’s cartoons. Neither Harvey nor Patrick are in sight, but both of their cars sit out front.
Voices filter in from the garage.
I let out a long, tired sigh.
Mr. Mansini called earlier, right in the middle of my breakdown, and told me to come in for my next scheduled shift. “The issue has been resolved,” he’d said.
I should’ve felt relief. Joy. Validation.
