Page 17 of The Unraveling

I nod.

“Why?”

I look away, shaking my head. “I’m not sure.”

“I have to imagine it would be very upsetting to run across them. To read the short number of years a young child lived from her headstone?”

My eyes well up even thinking about it. “Of course.”

“Is that the reason, Meredith? You’re looking to punish yourself more? I’m not a magician. I don’t know what is going on in your head without you sharing with me. But I’m concerned that your actions are very self-destructive.”

Tears streak down my cheeks. Dr. Alexander picks up a box of Kleenex and leans forward.

I pluck a few tissues out and wipe my face with a sniffle. “Thank you.”

After a long bout of silence, Dr. Alexander clears his throat. “Do you have a daily routine?”

“Um, yes. I mean… sort of.”

“Tell me about it. What do you do each morning?”

I blow out a breath and tell him how I start my day. My schedule that revolves around Gabriel.

“Okay, tomorrow, instead of following him, I want you to come here. I want you to sit in my lobby and write in your journal. Do that every day for the next week. Get your head out of the current pattern.”

I nod and take a deep breath. “Okay.” I can do that. I can get my coffee and come here instead. It will be better than following Gabriel. Than risking discovery. Risking losing even more than I already have. “I joined a gym,” I say, as though that will somehow redeem me.

“Good. Come here and journal. Go there and use a treadmill to do the mileage you’ve been walking while following him. Let’s break the cycle, create a new routine.”

I meet his eyes and force a smile. Try to look confident, and as though this has given me hope. But I still can’t shake it. The need to see it. The need to see Gabriel Wright’s pain. Which I caused.

CHAPTER 8 Then

I believe these are yours.” A bag skidded across the kitchen table, stopping right in front of me.

One glance at the folded-up printout stapled to the front of the white packaging and I didn’t need to ask why my husband was snarling. Birth control.

I closed my eyes.

Connor had gotten back last night from traveling with his team for a game in Cincinnati. I’d been waiting for the right moment to talk to him about my going back on the pill. Unfortunately, it never came.

I met his icy glare. “I’m sorry. I should’ve spoken to you about it before now. I just thought—”

Connor interrupted. “That your husband is damaged goods? Not father material?”

“No, that’s not it at all.” I stood and walked around the table. When I attempted to put my hands on his chest, he took two steps back, out of reach.

“Sure it’s not.”

“You already have so much pressure. It doesn’t seem like it’s the right time to add to that with a pregnancy and a newborn baby.”

“It’s nice of you to decide that for us.”

I frowned. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have had a discussion with you before renewing my prescription. It’s just that I got my period last night, and there’s only a short window of time to start a new pack, so I called.” I was in the wrong here, so I should have stopped at that—an apology and explanation. But something occurred to me, and the question tumbled from my mouth before I could stop it. “Why were you at the pharmacy that you picked up my pills anyway?”

Connor’s jaw clenched. “The physical therapist prescribed me a cream for the swelling in my knee. I told you I stopped taking the pain meds last month.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply…”

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