Page 2 of Sins of a Husband

“Thank you, Lucas.”

He leaves the house, and I plop down on the couch, placing my face in my hands. Cindy sits down next to me and places her hand on my knee.

“Everything is going to be okay, Kat.”

But I wasn’t so sure about that. I wasn’t sure my life would ever be okay again.

Rockstead,Maine—the small town where we lived. Quiet and quaint. There hadn’t been a murder in town in over ten years. It was an accidental murder, but nonetheless. Why us? We didn’t have much. We lived in a fifteen hundred square foot cape cod-styled home with two bedrooms and two baths. It was a steal when we bought it because it needed so much work. That’s what I loved about Brian. He was a handyman and could do almost anything. We fixed up the house ourselves—new kitchen, new bathrooms, new paint, and a new staircase. It was perfect, just like he was—just like our marriage.

We were married for two and a half years and were the envy of the town. The residents called us the perfect town couple. Everyone knew everyone and everyone’s business. When I moved to Rockstead and worked at a small law firm, I never expected to meet someone as wonderful and perfect as my husband. It was love at first sight for both of us.

Brian worked for a construction company. I was an attorney, fresh out of law school when I moved here from Richmond, Virginia. My parents were killed a year before I graduated from law school in a horrible car accident. The brakes on my father’s car went out. He lost control, went off the road, and crashed into a tree. They died instantly, according to the medical examiner. They were all I had, except for Brandon, a guy I was in a six-month relationship with. After my parents were killed, I became so distant he dumped me, which was fine because I wasn’t sure why I kept seeing him in the first place. He was nice enough—even a little cute. But he wasn’t the perfect man I was searching for.

The police ruled my husband’s murder as the result of a break-in. Some of the jewelry Brian had given me was taken, along with my wedding ring. Other than those fewitems, nothing else in the house was touched. Detective Strange told me that they put an alert out to all the pawn shops across the country with a description of my jewelry in case the psychopath tried to pawn it.

I’m sittingin Cindy’s guestroom on a queen-sized bed, my knees planted into my chest with my arms securely wrapped around them. I sit like this often—ever since I was a child. Brian used to make fun of me and tell me I looked like a scared little girl who got in trouble, which was further from the truth. I was never scared as a child. My parents were the best any child could hope for. They took care of me, guided me, loved me, and were always there when I needed them. I probably had the best childhood of any kid in the world.

I glance at the old-fashioned clock on the nightstand. It’s two a.m. Ever since that night, I wake up at precisely two a.m. The officers found me and Brian in our home at three a.m. Brian’s time of death was two a.m., according to the medical examiner. I can’t sleep. I stare at the bottle of sleeping pills Dr. Leary prescribed sitting on the nightstand. I’d only taken two in the last two weeks. I didn’t want my body to become dependent on them. I’d never taken a sleeping pill in my life, and I wasn’t about to become addicted now.

Chapter Two

THREE YEARS LATER

With a grocery bagin one hand, I insert the key into the lock with my other and open the door to our home: 236 East 72ndStreet—a four-bedroom, four-bath, three thousand square foot brownstone that Oliver and I picked out together.

I moved to New York City six months after what happened back in Rockstead when Reynolds, Burns & Nelson offered me a job as an attorney for their property law division. I had no choice but to leave the charming town of Rockstead for apparent reasons. It was hard enough being there without my husband and the horrific memories of that night, but I had become the talk of the town and was labeled asthat poor widow. I saw the way the people of the town looked at me: the whispers, the pity. I couldn’t stand it anymore. At that point, the police hadn’t found my husband’s killer, and Lucas Strange informed me that they probably never would. Cindy said I was suffocating and needed to make a fresh start. She was the one who found the ad for the job at Reynolds, Burns & Nelson on Indeed and sent me the link.

I set the brown paper bag on the kitchen island. I loved my kitchen—an incredible chef’s kitchen with a wall of windows, ample white cabinets, top-of-the-line appliances, Caesarstone countertops in a Carbo Brushed color, a built-in banquet, and a breakfast bar (the island) with two bar stools.

I hear the front door open, and my nose immediately picks up his scent. Armani cologne fills the air, a mix of earthy musk and citrus—two scents that are nothing short of alluring and powerful.

“There’s my beautiful wife.” A smile graces his face as he strolls into the kitchen. “Did you just get home?” He leans in and kisses my lips.

“I did. On my way home, I had to stop at the store to pick up some things, and there was a line.”

“I’m going to head upstairs, change out of this suit, and go into my office to do some work. When will dinner be ready?” he asks.

“In about an hour.” I smile.

I watch as my husband winks at me and leaves the kitchen.

After Brian died, I never thought I would find someone as perfect as him. A year after his death, I dipped my toe into the dating pond after a colleague of mine, Samantha, pressured me into joining a dating app—something I had never done before. She assured me it was safe as long as I followed the rules.

Always meet publicly.

Always tell a friend where you’re going and with whom.

Know what you want.

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