Page 89 of Sighs By the Sea

A knock at the door jolts me from my thoughts. My body tenses instinctively before I get up from my chair. Peeking out from the doorway, I watch as Mack checks the peephole before he answers the door. A moment later, he calls for me.

Walking down the hall, my heart pounds in my chest. Standing in the doorway is my wife, Suzannah, the woman whose disappearance turned my world upside down. A wave of rage surges through me, raw and unfiltered.

“George, go play in the bedroom, buddy,” I say, my voice strained.

"Gray—" Sam says softly behind me. I know she's ready to jump in, though I don't know what she would do.

“Daddy, who’s that?” George asks. I have to fight to keep my voice calm.

“Go with Sam and see if Gam Gam left anything in the bedroom to play with.”

Reluctantly, George gets up and stomps away. Once my son is safely out of earshot, I stare at my wife.

"Mack, we're fine here." He asks if I'm sure, and I nod. Whatever Suze is here for, I don't think it's to hurt me. As soon as he's back with the others, I ask, “How did you know where we were?”

“Maybe I'm not here for you, Gray. Ever think about that?” I scoff at her sharp words. For some reason, hearing my nickname come from her mouth has my chest tightening even more. She looks awful. Her clothes are smudged and stained, her face a mask of impassive stone.

“Then why are you here?”

“I was looking for Detective Parker. To talk,” she admits, her words soft.

I point to the couch. “Then sit and talk.” We both take a seat but are quiet, an ocean of unspoken words between us.

Suze looks at the ground. “He’s gotten so big,” she murmurs.

I bite back a retort, my emotions a tangled mess. Before I can say anything, she buries her face in her hands, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Gray.” I don’t move or let my expression change. No matter how she looks or sounds, I’m simply too angry to have any sympathy for her. Instead, I listen as Suze speaks of her regrets.

“I just… I don’t know how to deal. I never have. And it was all too much. Your stupid family, the way they kept tightening the noose.” At those words, I jump to my feet, my face flushing with warmth.

“Tightening the noose? You were pulling out thousands of dollars from our account to spend on pills! We were going to be homeless if I let it go on. And I was worried. Christ, Suzannah. I thought you were going to end up dead under a bridge!” I’m shouting but can’t help it. Her perception is so skewed, and I have to correct it.

“I know! Don’t you think I know? I… need help.”

Fuck. All the fury drains away in an instant. My pregnant wife—or ex-wife, more accurately—is a broken woman.

I let out a long breath and plop onto the couch next to her. “Suzannah, I can’t help you. But I know people who can.” Her crying grows more hysterical at my words, and I put an arm around her shoulder, drawing her closer to me.

As I do, she winces. “Are you hurt?” I ask.

Suze clams up, tears stalling in her eyes. As she wipes them away, I notice a bruise on her upper arm. My protective instincts kick in.

“Who’s hurting you?” I demand, my voice rising.

Suze breaks down, her sobs wracking her body. “If he finds out, he’ll kill me,” she gasps between tears.

My heart races. Someone is beating a pregnant woman, my family. Whether I like it or not, Suzannah and I are bound together for life through our son. I’ll be damned if I let someone hurt the mother of my child.

“Show me,” I demand.

Suzannah lies back on the couch, grimacing in pain. I gently lift her shirt, revealing a chest covered in bruises. My worry dissipates, replaced by a deep, aching sorrow. A monster has done this. Someone sick and disgusting. I know the reality of humans. The fact is, women are more likely to be abused and injured by their intimate partners while they're pregnant. The highest cause of death for pregnant women? Suicide and homicide.

Right now, that’s grating on my mind. I know the statistics, usually I like numbers. But I never thought it would happen to someone I care for.

“Don’t move,” I say.

I grab my phone and go to the second bedroom. After instructing Mack to keep an eye on Suzannah, I go into the master and call Maggie. She answers on the first ring.

“Really, Gray? You can’t figure out a switch on the computer?” It takes me a moment to even understand that she’s talking about the lights I texted about before. Though the conversation happened maybe twenty minutes ago, it feels like a lifetime.

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