Page 64 of Silent Is The Heart

“But…my family.”

“They can come visit us. I have a beautiful house there. You’re going to love it.” Squeezing my shoulder, he drops a rough kiss on my forehead and slips the paper from my fingers. “I told you, everything is going to be fine,” he calls, returning the document to that now eerie-looking bag that feels like Dora’s backpack if Dora the Explorer were someone on the run in aLifetime Movie Networkfilm.

“Honestly,” he chuckles, holding his hands out to the sides, “this might have been the best thing that ever happened to us.”

How? I want to screech, but my voice comes out in barely a whisper. “But…m-my job.” I realize he probably has no clue about the new life I’ve built while he was out foraging for one for the both of us, thinking he was solving our problems. I also realize what a pleaser I was, the way I bowed to whatever he wanted. It explains why that old suffocating feeling is back. “I’m back at Hampton Hills,” I continue, grasping for straws while still locked in that submissive role I never acknowledged I held in our relationship. “I took over Dr. Norton’s old position.”

Snorting, he shakes the skillet, flipping the meat he has cooking in it. The potent overuse of herbs is starting to turn my stomach.

“I know. I did an internet search. Don’t worry. You won’t ever have to work at a place like that again. You’ll love the clinic.You can head the speech pathology program there. I’ve already performed quite a few vocal repair surgeries.”

His disdain for the place we met is nothing new, but hearing his plans for me makes me feel like livestock that has no say in my fate rather than a considerate action to ease my employment concerns. It’s too reticent of all the grand promises he made that were the allure of going to Seattle with him.

When I chose to stay on at Seattle Mercy after finishing my fellowship there instead of joining him at his clinic, it was a point of contention I felt represented a power struggle to him. I thought keeping our work separate would be better for our marriage. At the time, he said he agreed, but I can see my wishes went unheard in the end.

The zeal pouring off him as he anticipates my reaction has my heart in my throat. I can see his excitement over this extension of our love story that he’s concocted in his mind, but mine doesn’t share the vision. There’s already a permanently rooted vision there that looks nothing like him.

“And my…” The wordboyfriendwants to burst out like a penalty flag to halt his escalating fantasy, but I know I’m technically not allowed to have one of those if I’m still married, so I settle for, “I have friends here.”

His shoulders go slack as he blinks at me. “Aaron, it’s not like I have many choices,” he finally lets out. “I know you probably need some time to process this, but we’ll be happy there. I know it.”

Could I be happy there with him? Could I be happy with himanywhere? I made a promise,‘until death do us part.’The problem is that I thought the death part came and went,leaving me to put away my hopes for the life I had before in the past.

“Or…don’t you want me anymore?” he ventures quietly.

My gaze snaps to his. I must have been sitting here in my own thoughts for too long. How do I answer that question?

Rising from my chair, I go to the kitchen window that overlooks the backyard, hoping a reply will come to me. Do I want the man he was before? No… not exactly. Do I want the man he is now? I don’t even know who he is now. I feel like I should want some version of him, but obligation and want are two different things. I wait too long to answer.

“Is there someone else?”

My face burns with shame, and then it burns some more because I’m not ashamed of what I have with Easton. “It…it’s new.”

From the corner of my eye, I watch his expression turn stony. He sets the cooking spoon down and nods, but more to himself. Sucking in a breath, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and faces me with a tight smile. “I forgive you.”

My head might have actually reared back. What is there to forgive? He let me think he was dead.

“Are you in love with him?”

It feels like I’ve been unfaithful, standing in the line of his narrowed gaze. Technically, I have, but given the circumstances, I’d like to think my actions are forgivable. Maybe it’s just the eerie calm about him that has me reluctant to share any details.

“I told you. It’s…new.

Stepping forward, slowly, his eyes never leave my face. He doesn’t stop until his chest brushes against my shoulder. I wantto move, but moving seems like it would give off an indication of guilt.

“Are you fucking him?” His words come out disturbingly low, almost like the thought of it turns him on.

My windpipe seems to have constricted two sizes. I don’t like the filthy connotation affixed to his query, nor the derision. Stepping away, I throw my hands up. “I thought you were dead! It’s been almost two years.”

“That’s a long time to wait,” he says dryly.

I never get mad. Ever. Right now, though, I hate that I’m being put on trial. I never fully grasped what a passive-aggressive bully he was, but it’s glaringly obvious at the moment.

Some bold version of my voice speaks up, one that was grown in love and happiness. “And it’s a long time to think your husband’s dead.”

Even as I say it, though, my breath feels caught in my throat, anticipating repercussions. His shoulders rock on a bitter puff of laughter, though, and he looks down, shaking his head in amusement.

I never knew how to argue, but it feels like I have the upper hand, so I continue with false confidence and frustration. “He’s supposed to be coming over here, so I think you should leave. I need to talk to him.”

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