Page 32 of Brutal Husband

Harriet’s eyes grow round. “Wow, you must be so rich if you own twelve horses.”

Nero clears his throat. “Costa, our table is ready. We won’t intrude, Rieta. I’ll see you at home.”

He and his companion move to the other side of the restaurant and accept menus from the waiter. The man keeps glancing over at us, which makes me wonder if my husband is talking about me.I hate my wife. She’s a liar and a dead fish in bed. I need Viagra just to get it up.My skin crawls with shame, and I finish my first glass of wine too quickly.

Over the following days, the rest of the truth comes out about Laz and Mia. She was secretly working as a stripper, and he paid her to dance for him. Now Laz has disappeared, abandoning his pregnant stepdaughter. Mom makes Mia’s life hell, and I’m afraid of what she’ll talk Mia into doing if Mia goes home with her.

“You can stay here as long as you need to. My home is your home,” I assure Mia.

Mia’s pale face is filled with uncertainty. Apparently I haven’t been hiding my envy of her pregnancy very well. “Rieta, it hurts you even to look at me right now. Are you sure you want me here?”

I sigh and fiddle with my bracelet, wishing I were a better sister. “I won’t lie to you. I am envious, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon you when you need me. I really am happy for you, I promise.”

“If you’re sure. The last thing I want is to cause any more trouble.”

I reach out and take Mia’s hands in mine, and I smile at her. “I’m sure. We’re sisters. I’ve got your back, always.”

11

Rieta

Nero doesn’t utter a word about Mia staying in our house, and I wouldn’t let him tell my sister to leave even if he wanted to. Day by day, I find myself growing more and more excited. Mia’s having a baby, and with Laz gone, Mia can stay here, and we can look after it together. The nursery that I’ve been planning in my mind for such a long time will have a baby in it after all. New moms need all the help they can get. We’ll raise this child together.

While we prepare for the baby, Mia and I spend a lot of time with Annie. She has so much expectant mom information to share with Mia, and I eagerly listen to every drop, almost feeling like it’s for me. I start buying food that’s good for Mia and the baby and stocking up on things she’ll need when the baby comes. My heart feels light and hopeful.

One morning when it’s just me and Annie sharing coffee, Annie asks me, “Are you okay? I know this has been hard for you.”

She means Mia falling pregnant while I’m still struggling. I smile at my friend, and it feels easy. Genuine. “I’m more than okay. I’m happy for the first time in…well, maybe forever.”

Until suddenly, it all falls apart for me.

Because a few weeks later, Laz is back, and Mia runs into his open arms. On the outside, I’m smiling. Of course I’m happy for my sister and the love of her life. They deserve to be together, make plans together, share their own home with their baby.

After the OB-GYN appointment that Laz crashes out of nowhere, I go home to an empty house. The silence is too loud, and so I open a bottle of wine.

I wake up the next morning with a headache, a fuzzy tongue, and a sick feeling in my stomach. I can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or if I’m feeling guilty about not being uncomplicatedly happy for my sister.

“I am happy for her,” I whisper as I struggle downstairs and into the kitchen. With a mug in my hand, I open the fridge, and my eyes land on the second bottle of white wine I opened last night but didn’t quite finish. It tempts me, all crisp and cold, promising to take the edge off my hangover and my misery.

I avert my gaze from my reflection in the kitchen cabinets as I yank the bottle out of the fridge and pour the remaining wine into my mug. I drink it as I walk into the living room and switch on the TV. This is awful, shameful behavior, but I can’t stop myself. What’s scarier is I can’t think of a reason to stop. No one wants me or needs me. I don’t feel happier as I drink wine for breakfast, but I do feel numb.

I’m halfway through the mug when there’s an insistent ringing at my front door. I ignore it, but it turns into urgent knocking and goes on and on. When I finally go see who it is, I spy Mom through the peephole. The wine has made me reckless enough to want a confrontation with her, and I open the door.

“If you’re here to play the innocent victim, I’m not interested,” I tell her. There’s no way that Mom wasn’t the one who locked Laz up to keep him from Mia. She tried to coerce Mia into getting rid of the baby just to punish them both and ruin their happiness.

She pushes past me and walks into the living room. “My brothers are protective of me. I had no idea what they did to Laz or where they were keeping him all this time.”

She’s so full of it. I slam the door and follow her. “Mom, locking people away is your bad habit. I know that better than anyone.”

Mom’s eyes narrow, and too late, I realize that I’m slurring as I speak. “Rieta, have you been drinking?”

I tuck my hair behind my ear and shrug. “I had two glasses of wine last night. I was upset.”

Mom comes closer and sniffs. “Your breath smells like you’ve been drinking this morning.” She plucks my coffee mug off the table and examines the contents, which is clearly white wine.

I slump down on the sofa, hugging my knees to my chest. Mom can judge me all she wants. If I’m hurting anyone, it’s only myself.

“I told you that you were making a mistake before you married him,” Mom says, her voice riddled with satisfaction.

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