Page 3 of Lover
“You know what I mean,” Dr. Hannigan corrected with poorly suppressed annoyance.
My own exasperation was matched. I still questioned the methods being put forward. “You’re asking for such an impossible thing. How can I pretend not to know the woman I love?”
“You’ll do it for her sake, and when she’s finally returned to us, you can live life again and put your guilt to rest.”
My guilt.
The voices of that night began their familiar echo in my mind, as they had done every day, playing in a loop, snagged upon the shameful moment that has haunted me for the past two years.
Millie, wailing at me, screaming about ghosts and accusing me of horrendous things. I’d been aware she was unwell, but every accusation pierced me. Then, the final, fatal blow.
“You’re a monster! Your mother knew you were!”
I’d lost sense of myself, grabbing hold of her shoulders, bony and delicate from her illness, shaking her twice and raising my voice to be heard above her screeching.
“There are no monsters, Millie! It’s only in your mind!”
I’d shocked her quiet, having never laid a harsh hand on her outside of the bedroom when it was games and love instead of anger and hurt.
“Darling,” I’d said in the sudden stillness, “please come back to me.”
With a howl, she’d wrenched away and swiped her nails across my face to give herself time to escape, time to run out of the house, into the storm.
“Callum?”
I surfaced from beneath the suffocating memory, the library becoming substantial again. I found I’d brought a hand to my cheek, the phantom scratch burning as my shame burned.
“You lost yourself,” Hannigan said softly.
I didn’t respond, only smoothed my hair back into place and closed my eyes to search the darkness for steadiness. When the doctor spoke again, he was sympathetic.
“It’s going to be all right.”
Hannigan was a gentle soul on any day, but this voice was reserved for those with whom he felt a deep affection. I’d heard it many times as a boy when my mother lay dying, and again as aman on the ecstatic day of my marriage when I held the bliss of the future in my hands. Then, most recently, during the turmoil and loss that followed the very happiness I’d taken for granted.
There was a firm hand on my shoulder, a squeeze, and I opened my eyes to look at the man who’d been a second father to me.
“She’s downstairs, son,” he said. “She’s home.”
Just as I placed a hand over his, thankful for the bracing words, a piercing scream devastated the peace.
CHAPTER 3
THE BOTH OF us jolted. Hannigan cursed, and I moved instinctively toward the horrible noise—the very same scream I’d heard the night Millie had thrown herself into the ravine.
“That was Felicity,” I said, acidic adrenaline burning in my veins.
“Wait.” The doctor’s grip returned to my shoulder, this time to belay me. “You can’t go charging in all worked up. We don’t know what’s going on. Felicity’s a nervous girl, so I’m sure it’s nothing. Stay here and I’ll go check on things.”
“Stay here?” I echoed, disbelieving.
“You look ready to rip a man apart with your bare hands. Do you think that will offer Millie any comfort?”
“And what if she’s hurt?”
He gave me one long, patient bob of the head to show me he understood my anxieties. “Then Ms. Dillard would be screaming too. I spotted her spying on us from a vestibule in the lower hall. She’s had eyes on Millie since the girl arrived.”
This information encouraged the blade of fear to retreat from my throat, though it still hovered close, ready to bite.
