Chapter 5
"Your room's that way," William said.
"This is the master bedroom," I replied.
"Violet, your body..." William started.
I reached out and pushed the door open.
On the master bedroom's vanity, the makeup was neatly arranged, with a few more items than I'd seen two days ago.
The foundation was new, the cap still unopened.
Beside the mirror was a framed photo, showing a woman in a half-length portrait.
Her face was oval, brows gently arched, a smile lingering at her lips, long hair cascading down, and she wore a cream-colored sweater.
It was Fiona.
Her photo was sitting right there on my vanity.
I shot William a look. "Didn't you say she already moved out?"
William picked up the frame, flipped it over, and set it face down on the table.
He shrugged. "She still hasn't finished packing up her stuff."
"Not finished packing?" I shot back, yanking open the closet. "What about all this?"
The whole left side was stuffed with her clothes. On the right, there were a few brand new black coats, tags still on, all in my size.
He gave me half the closet, right next to her things.
It was like he was tossing me a bone.
"William, what exactly are you trying to do?" I demanded.
"She'll take her stuff out little by little," he replied.
"Little by little? How long is that gonna take? One piece of clothing a day?" I shot back.
"Do you have to be so pushy?" he said.
"All I did was ask when another woman's clothes will be out of my bedroom in my own house, and that's me being pushy?" I retorted.
He didn't say anything, but that look of impatience on his face was all too familiar.
I'd seen that look plenty of times.
Whenever I disagreed with him, he'd always give me that look.
But now, it was even more blatant.
Because he'd gotten used to being around someone who never tested his patience.
"Are you just not letting her go?" I pressed.
"She's helped this family for three years. I can't just kick her out," he said.
"Helped? She's been playing your wife for three years, and you call that helping?" I shot back.
He said, "While you were gone, she held down the fort. Do you even realize how much has happened in this house these past three years?
"Company parties, business dinners, all those Bennett family gatherings, she handled it all on her own."
"I wasn't here because I was lying in a hospital bed, almost dead!" I snapped.
As soon as I said it, the ticking from the living room clock sounded louder than ever.
William stayed silent for what felt like forever.
Then he finally spoke, and his words hit me like a bucket of ice water.
"Can't you just be more like her?" he said.
Be more like her.
He wanted me to act like the woman who'd been pretending to be me.
"Be more like her? Do you want me to learn how to pretend to be someone else? Or is it just about pleasing you?" I shot back.
"That's not what I meant," he said.
"Then what did you mean?" I pressed.
"She never argues with me," William said flatly.
I just stared at him, dead silent, for a good five seconds.
Then I spun around and headed straight for the guest room, not bothering to look back.
Right before I shut the door, I threw over my shoulder, "She doesn't argue with you because she doesn't have the right. That's a privilege only your wife gets."
The door clicked shut, and the hallway went quiet again.
I heard the master bedroom door close too.
Then I caught the faint sound of someone dialing a phone.
It was quiet, but in the middle of the night, it sounded clear as day.
He was calling her again.
On the morning of the fifth day, I got a call from an unknown number while I was in the guest room.
"Hello?" I answered.
There was a brief silence, then an elderly woman finally spoke.
"Is this Violet?" she asked.
Hearing her call me that made me freeze.
Only one person in the world ever called me that.
It was my mom.
"Who is this?" I asked.
"I'm from the Barrett family. Your grandmother asked me to call you," she said.
Grandma.
My mom left when I was five. Before she left, she just said, "Violet, I'm sorry. When you're older, go look for your grandma."
But I never found my grandma.
Because I had no idea who she was or where she lived.
My dad never mentioned her, and every trace of my mom was erased from our home.
"Which grandma are you talking about?" I asked.
"Mrs. Barrett. She is your mother, Georgia Barrett's mother," she replied.
Georgia was my mom's name.
I kept repeating that name in my head.
"How does she know I'm awake?" I asked.
"She's had people keeping tabs on you. She knew you were in a coma for three years, and she knows you woke up three days ago," the woman replied.
"Then why didn't she come find me all this time?" I pressed.
"She's not in good health, so she couldn't come herself. But she asked me to pass on a message for her," the woman said.
"What did she want to tell me?" I asked.
"She said, 'Violet, you've suffered enough. Everything I own will be yours in the future,'" the woman replied.
I stayed silent.
"She also said you can't rely on William. If you ever need help, just call this number," the woman added.
The call ended.