Page 50 of Sins of a Husband

I’m five minutes late as I burst through the door.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Burton. I fell asleep. I have this killer headache.”

“It’s okay, Katherine. Have a seat. What is this emergency?”

I kick off my shoes and sit crisscross applesauce on the couch. I lower my head and stare at the stain I managed to get on my pants.

“Katherine?” Dr. Burton says.

“I discovered that my parents, Bradley and Caroline, are not my biological parents. They adopted me when I was five after I watched my birth mother stab my father twenty-two times because he cheated on her.”

“Excuse me, what?” His eyebrows furrow in confusion, his face scrunching up as he tries to comprehend the situation.

“My mother killed my father and then went to prison to serve life but only made it to ten before she hung herself in her cell.”

“Jesus, Katherine.” He places his hand on his head. “I can’t believe this. How did you find out?”

“Detective Walker did some extensive research and told me. Then, I flew to Virginia and talked to the lead detective in charge of the case twenty-five years ago. Dr. Burton, everything I thought I knew is a lie,” my voice trembles, and suddenly, I let out a bitter laugh. “What a crock of shit my life turned out to be. I’m thirty years old, almost killed, my two husbands were murdered, my mother was a raving psychopath, my adopted parents lied to me, and I’m completely alone. Where’s my happily ever after? Where’s this amazing life my parents promised I would have?”

“After everything you’ve been through, it’s easy to fall into that mindset. It sounds like your adoptive parents set out to protect you in every possible way.”

“Someone is out there killing the men in my life, Dr. Burton. I have no one to protect me.”

After our lengthy conversation that seemed to fly by, I finally left his office, my emotional state no different than when I first entered. My steps were sluggish and weighted down with disappointment, each one a struggle as I made my way out of the building. I couldn't help but feel defeated and drained. Our discussion left me feeling uncertain about the future—my future.

I arrive home and set my purse down. Walking into the kitchen, I open the refrigerator and grab a yogurt. As I turn to grab a spoon from the drawer, I see a sealed envelope sitting on the island.

“What the hell is this,” I quietly ask, picking it up.

I open it and take out the folded piece of paper with a key taped to it and the words:

622 W. 51stStreet

#165

Safe lock: 4266519

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“What the hell?”I remove the key and hold it up.

I reach for my laptop on the kitchen table. The smooth surface is cool against my fingertips as I lift and open the device. My brows furrow in confusion as I look at the address given to me, which brings up a storage unit on Google Maps. Anxiety bubbles in my chest as I wonder who the hell left this in my house. I run out of the kitchen and over to the front door to ensure it’s locked. Then I walk into the living room and pull the curtains shut.

I stare at the note and key in my trembling hands, debating whether to call Detective Walker. My heart races as I think about what could be inside that storage unit. But then I remember her accusing tone and the fear of being arrested as The Widowmaker consumes me. I can't risk it. I have to find out what’s in that storage unit first. Maybe I’m not crazy. This proves someone is following me, watching me, and has access to my home. If I want any sleep, I can’t stay here tonight.

I race up the stairs, toss a few things into my bag, andthen grab the spare key to Oliver’s Bentley. I open the garage, throw my bag onto the back seat, and climb inside. His scent envelopes me immediately as if he had just been sitting here moments ago.

My hands grip the steering wheel tightly as I drive to the storage unit, my stomach twisting in knots with each passing mile. Dread fills me as I think about what I might find there. But I can’t turn back now. Someone wants me to see what’s in there. I have to face whatever awaits me at that storage unit. The anticipation is almost suffocating as I pull into the parking lot.

My fingers fumble in the cup holder, finally closing around the familiar shape of the key. I step out of the car and make my way down the long row of storage units. My footsteps echo on the concrete floor as I pass rows of metal doors with vinyl numbers above each unit.

Finally, I arrived at unit 165, located at the very end of the corridor. My hands shake as I insert the key and unlock the lock. Removing it, I bend down, lift the door, step inside, and close it. My hand instinctively reaches for the taut string hanging from the ceiling, and a bright light fills the dark space with a firm tug. As my eyes adjust, I see that the only object in the space is a large black safe.

The ringing of my phone startles me, and I jump. Pulling it from my pocket, I see Samantha is calling.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Hi. Travis and I are going out to dinner, and we’d like you to join us. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

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