Frayed Silk(17)

I tap out a response …



Me: I’m okay. Thanks for checking in.



I lock my phone, hoping that was sufficient enough to curb any more questions. It chirps again, and I bite my lip. Okay, apparently not.



Jared: You have amazing tits ;)



I burst out laughing in the middle of my kitchen.

“What’s so funny, Mommy?” Greta comes running in, opening the fridge to grab a yogurt. I tuck my phone away in my purse, watching her peel the lid off and attempt to throw it in the trash can by the end of the counter. The yogurt underneath it makes it stick to the top of the trash can, though.

“Nothing. One of my friends just sent me a funny message.” I kind of lie and grab a wipe to peel the yogurt lid from the trash can and wipe up the smear.

“I can’t wait till I have a cell phone. I’m gonna send you funny messages all the time,” she declares as she grabs a spoon and digs straight into the small tub. A bit dribbles over her lip as she says, “You have a nice laugh, Mommy.”

She says it as if she’s aware I rarely laugh—real laughter—anymore.

My brows lower as she walks out of the kitchen. I don’t want my children to look back and remember me as some seriously sad woman who merely went through life, doing what she had to do each day.

My heart clenches painfully. That reminds me of my own mother.

I help the kids with their homework then clean up the living room and move a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer before we sit down and have dinner. Again, no sign of Leo.

I’m cleaning up after dinner, the kids already in bed, when I finally hear his car parking in the garage. I can’t help but notice how long it takes him to get out of it and come inside. That stings—like he has to muster up the courage to come inside and see his own family. The people who love him.

I wipe my hands on a dish towel and pretend to browse the contents of the fridge when he walks into the kitchen. He doesn’t even kiss me on the head, one of the only ways he’ll touch me anymore. Anger starts to drown out that ever-growing pool of hurt in my stomach.

“How was your day?” I ask bluntly, closing the fridge door and startling when I see him leaning against the kitchen counter, watching me—actually looking at me.

He shrugs. “Can’t complain. Have you bought a dress yet?”

My brows furrow. “What for?”

He scratches at the stubble on his jaw, and I want so desperately to run my own nails down it. To touch him anywhere, everywhere.

“The charity gala is coming up next weekend.”

Shit. “Oh,” I reply dumbly. “Sure, I’ll grab one next week.”

“The kids in bed?” he asks, straightening his six-foot-two frame from the counter.

I nod. “Yeah, just before you pulled in.”

“I have some calls to make, so tell them I’ll be up in a minute,” he says before leaving the room and turning for what I’m guessing is his office.

Ugh, I hate going to events in the best of times. Having to make small talk with pompous assholes and two-faced women is not my idea of fun. But it’s even worse now. Now that I know my husband probably isn’t going to help make it any more bearable for me.

Blowing out a breath, I head upstairs and tuck Greta in, letting her know that Daddy will be up soon. I then go into Charlie’s room to do the same.

When he doesn’t respond, I take a seat on the bed next to him.

“Did you hear me?” I ask.

He nods, staring up at the ceiling. “You and Daddy don’t ever fight anymore.”

My eyes widen, but what did I think would happen? That the kids wouldn’t pick up on the tension and silence that now fills their once happy home?

“Um, well …” I try to think of what to say.

“Henry and Rupert’s parents fight all the time lately, but you guys don’t fight at all. You don’t …” He stops and swallows. “You’re just … different.”

Tears gather in my eyes as I look down at my confused little boy.

“I know, buddy.” It’s all I can say. I can’t lie to him—he knows better—and I have no explanations for him, not when I have none myself. I lie down next to him when he turns on his side, wrapping my arm around him and stroking his hair as he drifts off to sleep. Leo comes in a short while later but sees that he’s asleep and leaves the room.

I kiss Charlie’s head and leave to take a shower. Feeling emotionally drained and so damn over it all, I decide to grab my book and head to bed early. I run downstairs to grab my phone off the counter before turning off all the lights Leo won’t be using.

Just when I’m about to go back upstairs, he calls my name from his office, which sits opposite the stairs.

“Yes?” I ask, pausing on the stairs and setting the alarm on my phone for the next morning.

His voice sends ice skating through my veins when he says, “Make sure you get rid of that shit on your neck before next weekend.”





I text Fiona the next morning, letting her know I’m busy today—yeah, busy getting the third degree from Lola—but that she’s welcome to come over for a coffee tomorrow. She says she’ll leave the boys at home with Dylan and be here at ten thirty.

I drop the kids off and wave to Trey, Lola’s husband, who dropped Sophie off this morning before making the ten-minute drive to their place on the other side of Bonnets Bay.