Page 75 of The Marine

And yet, this is her question.

“I’m divorcing Kael, Mom. You saw what he did to me last week. Jesus. No.” I argue. “It’s nothing to do with him.”

“Adultery is a sin.” She opens the oven door.

Wow.

Just wow.

“So is raping and beating your wife.” I snap angrily.

Whose damn side is she on?

“Actually, it’s not,” Mom replies and turns to me. “I thought I brought you up better than this. I accept you want to divorce him, but sleeping with other men before the divorce is final is cheap, Briar.”

I feel the slap of her words on my face.

This has nothing to do with why she’s angry with me for seeing Aidan. But as always, she attacks me with her words.

I don’t feel guilty. It doesn’t feel like I’m cheating with Aidan. It feels...it feels like a lot of things. It feels hot, sinful—yes—but I also feel sexy and desired and protected.

It feels right.

And I don’t want to feel those things, but I do.

I want to get him out of my system and heart as I’ve tried to for so long. Even on my wedding day, I thought about him on and off, wondering if he was married now. If, had things been different, he’d be the man I would have married instead.

But I loved Kael.

I just didn’t know who he truly was.

It was irrelevant anyway. Neither of us had contacted one another again after that time, and I knew I’d lose my mother if I did.

And could I really? Despite my feelings. What if the medical people were wrong? I had convinced myself that Mom was right, and Aidan was responsible.

To one degree or another.

And moved on with my life.

Marrying Kael had felt like the start of a wonderful life. Until he showed me who he was. A violent, controlling man.

Just like my childhood, I never knew when he would snap. Some days, it was a relief when he did hurt me. I knew then I’d have at least a few weeks before it would happen again.

The golden days, I called them.

I could relax and feel safe.

It’s the not knowing, the tiptoeing around that consumes you. That have you living on edge.

The same as it was with my father.

When he chose to hurt my mother instead of me, I’d lie under my bed with my hands over my head and cry, feeling guilty. Hell, sometimes, I’d distract him and send him my way instead of hers.

One night, I watched her blink when she realized what I’d done. She sat back down at the kitchen table and closed her eyes while Dad flew across the room and slapped me across the face, dragging me up the stairs.

I never let myself dwell on that too much. I know why she did it. She needed a break, even at the cost of her own child being harmed.

But the truth is, she had let it happen.

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