Page 90 of Relentless

She could only imagine how long their affair had gone on as she connected the breadcrumbs of their infidelity.

How could I have been so blind?

“Mom?” Oakleigh’s voice rang out from behind her.

“Take me home,” Harper demanded, her voice resembling a desperate croak.

“Okay, fine,” Oakleigh emphasized, patting the pocket of her snow pants for her key fob. “But we have to make this quick.”

The ride back to the ranch was silent. Harper stared out the window into the darkness, attempting to collect her threadbare emotions.

Oakleigh pulled the Jeep up to the front of the ranch house, and shifted the car into park.

“Mom?” she asked, pressing her lips into a fine line. “Is everything okay?”

Harper mustered the last of her fragile composure, yet even she could detect her own eerie false bounce of optimism.

“Why wouldn’t it be, dear?”

Oakleigh’s eyes narrowed as though she could see right through the fragile facade. It was a look that reminded her so much of Maeve, that it tipped Harper further on the precarious precipice.

“Run along now,” Harper taunted, pushing her door open.

It was all a blur as she headed to the porch. The Jeep idled behind her as though Oakleigh was contemplating following after her.

Pushing the front door open, she was relieved to hear the large tires crunch down the icy driveway toward the highway.

The house was dark and seemingly devoid of life. Even the crackling fireplace was now just glowing embers. Leaning on the door frame, she felt the immense burden of loss.

It was all over.

She bit her lip until she tasted coppery blood.

Making her way up the stairs, the absence of anyone who cared in the slightest fed her self-loathing.

She stepped into her bedroom, and slammed her door behind her, rattling the walls from the force of her temper.

Clenching her fist, she pounded hard into the solid wood door. The sting on her knuckles felt satisfying as she pulled her fist back again, and struck the immovable surface until her knuckles felt numb. She ran her fingers over the place that absorbed all her aggression.

Not even a dent.

She pushed her back against the door and slid to the ground, burying her head in her hands.

They don’t care. Nobody cares.

That’s when Harper remembered the shiny metal flask of vodka hidden away in the nightstand.

Crawling on her hands and knees, she reached into the drawer, and nabbed the flask. It only took a second to unscrew the lid, and bring it to her lips.

What about Oakleigh?

“She’s better off without me,” she whispered.

The self-sabotaging justification was enough for Harper as she tipped it back and savored the burn of the liquor down her throat.

Her gaze drifted to the orange prescription bottle in the drawer.

Why stop now?

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