Chapter 3

It was obvious he was trying to please Imogen.

My husband wanted me to cook, just so he could win over his precious first love.

I pressed my lips together tight. My face was deathly pale from how weak my body still was.

Ian looked away awkwardly, clearing his throat.

Ian said, "Esme, since you've been discharged, that proves you're fine. Go and withdraw the case with the police as soon as possible.

"They've already checked. It turns out the guy doesn't even know Imogen.

"If you can just behave and listen to me, I can forgive you for how you've acted lately."

He had taken everything good from my life, and now he was offering me this crumb of mercy.

Just be generous about it, and we could act like none of this ever happened.

My hand instinctively went to my stomach as I looked at his face.

"How could you even call yourself a human being?" I said.

"What do you mean?" Ian looked up at me, confusion in his eyes, along with a flicker of anger.

"Exactly what it sounds like, Ian. Someone like you doesn't deserve a family," I said.

I lay down again, turning my back to Ian.

This was the first time in our nine years of marriage that I had ever turned away from him like this.

I had never once given him the cold shoulder, not even when he had stayed out all night with Imogen, not even when he had left me home alone deathly sick to go have dinner with her.

I had never once complained.

Now, all that love was nothing but ashes.

All that was left between Ian and me was endless, burning hatred.

*****

The next morning, the house was unusually quiet. I stayed in bed a little longer, not worrying about whether Ian had eaten or if his stomach was bothering him.

For once, he opened my bedroom door and set a box of warm tacos on the nightstand.

He said, "It was my fault I didn't come take care of you the past few days. But you can't drag an innocent person into this.

"Esme, Imogen is just a little girl I knew when we were kids. I'm just helping her out a little. I don't have any other feelings for her, I swear."

He tried to explain, his eyes full of that fake affection I had once fallen for.

I stared at his face and felt my stomach turn.

When I was pregnant, tacos were my favorite. Maybe the baby loved them too; I had to have a few every single day.

Ian always preferred bland, healthy food. He had always thought tacos were too greasy and unhealthy, and made me eat them outside the house or finish them before I came home.

Now, for Imogen's sake, he was willing to put up with the discomfort to buy these for me?

But what I hated most was that my baby was gone. I had failed to protect him. I had no right to eat any tacos.

I knocked the whole box onto the floor. A few of them fell onto Ian, leaving greasy stains on his clothes.

He frowned, clearly annoyed. "I got up early and waited in line to get you something to eat, Esme. I've done my best to apologize.

"Don't push it. This wasn't Imogen's fault at all. If you hadn't been out and about all day, none of this would've happened."

My body had been weak, and the doctor had told me to get plenty of exercise to make the birth easier.

Ian didn't know any of that. He didn't even know we'd had a baby.

Every time I had tried to tell him, he'd always had something else come up.

He was always busy helping Imogen move, dropping off stuff for her, or being there when she needed someone because she was scared of thunder.

These stupid, endless excuses had taken up nine years of my life.

I was like a doormat, swallowing it all, again and again. Now it was over. I never had to hold it in again.

"I didn't ask you to buy them, Ian. You did this all on your own. Don't blame me for it," I said.

That was the line Ian had said to me so many times. I had spent all those years caring for him and looking after the house.

And in the end, all I had gotten were those words: "You did this on your own."

Ian realized what I had said, and his face went pale. He stared at me, speechless.

He said, "I can't talk sense into you. Anyway, starting today, I'll make time to be home with you more. Then you won't be so paranoid, convinced everyone's out to get you."

He made it sound so good, but I knew he'd barely keep it up for a few days.

Ian would never leave Imogen behind, and he sure as hell wouldn't take care of me.

That night, I finally got a taste of Imogen's so-called cooking skills.

I had rarely seen Ian look like that. He stared at the food on the plate like it was some kind of important medical procedure he needed to perform.

I had fallen head over heels for that exact look once, and chased him for years.

Back then, Imogen had moved away with her family, and no one had heard from her in years.

Ian had held onto his memory of her, but he couldn't find her. So he had made me into a replacement.

That was why all the red dresses in my closet had been replaced with white ones and why all my high heels had been swapped out for sneakers.

I had worn them for nine years. Finally, I realized I was Esme. I wasn't some delicate stand in for someone else. I was my own person.

So I dug out the red dress I had hidden at the bottom of my closet and put on a bright, bold makeup look.

Ian's hand froze on the plate he was holding. I didn't smile at him like I used to. I sat down coldly across the table from him.

"Let's eat," I said.