Page 41 of Rest In Peace

"Nothing to say." Short, curt. A wall of words to keep him out.

"Eva Rae…." His sigh whispered across the room.

"Really, I'm fine." The lie stung my throat.

"Fine doesn't shake like a leaf or jump at shadows." His words were gentle but firm.

"Please, Matt." My plea was half-hearted and hollow.

"All right," he conceded, though it sounded more like defeat than agreement.

"Sit down," I insisted, gesturing to the table. "Let me do this for you."

"Okay." But he didn't move, watching me instead.

My hands shook as I sliced vegetables, the knife tapping a morse code of guilt on the cutting board. Each chop fractured the air, mirroring the fissures in my resolve.

"Stop." Matt's voice sliced through my actions.

"Stop what?" I didn't turn; I couldn't face the concern I'd see etched on his face.

"Stop pretending." His words echoed, bouncing off the kitchen tiles.

"Matt, really, let's just eat." My tone was sharp, final.

"Eva Rae…."

"Please." The word hung between us, a barrier, a wish.

"Okay."

Guilt clawed at my insides as I watched him sit with much trouble. Fear gnawed at me as I braced myself against the counter, taking a moment to breathe. Silence wrapped around me, heavy and charged with the things left unsaid.

"Food will be ready soon," I called over my shoulder, my voice nearly steady.

"Take your time." His reply was distant; the space between us was more than just physical now.

I glanced back. Matt sat, head bowed, hands clasped—a statue of patience and pain. I turned away, a tear escaping, tracing a path down my cheek. I hated doing this to him. I wiped it away angrily, knowing the cost of my secrets, feeling their weight.

"Almost done," I lied again, the words hollow, as I continued to cook.

The steam rose from the pot, wrapping tendrils around my face. I stirred mechanically, the spoon circling, grazing the bottom. My mind was a battlefield, thoughts clashing, each one sharp as shrapnel. Guilt. Duty. The need to protect.

"Food's almost ready," I called out, the lie sticking in my throat.

"Can't wait," he replied, a hint of resignation in his voice.

My heart thrummed, a drumbeat of dread. Would he see through me? Would my facade crumble like stale bread?

I called the children.

“Dinner is ready!”

"Looks delicious," Matt said, though his eyes searched for more than what was on the table.

"Let's eat," I urged, avoiding his gaze.

The kids came running and sat down. I helped Angel with her food, and she laughed happily. Forks scraped plates in a symphony of normalcy. But nothing was normal. Not now. I didn’t know how to get it back.

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