Page 45 of Open Secrets
I shove his hands away, twisting out of his grip. “Don’t.”
I cross the room, planting myself by the window. My palms brace against the sill, cold wood steady under my fingers as I stare into the backyard.
“I didn’t think that would be the option you picked,” I whisper, my breath fogging the glass.
Silence holds, heavy, until my own memory pulls me under.
Maria — Three Years Ago – Austin, Texas. 2022
Snow clings to my coat as I shake it off, stomping the slush from my boots before heading inside. The bar is warm, dim, and packed—the holiday week pulling in everyone desperate for a break from family. I suppose that’s why I’m here, too.
The bartender gives me a nod of recognition as I slip past the crowd. My booth is in the back, shadowed enough to feel private, familiar enough to feel like mine. Just one year ago, I was running myself ragged—working three jobs, dragging myself through hospitals, trying to control everything. And now?
Now Lyle is home with the kids, and I have this. A stolen hour to myself.
I’m not going to lie: there was a time I thought we wouldn’t survive. Rain’s leukaemia. The bills. The debt. The hollow loneliness. But Rain is in remission now. The debt is still there,not as crushing, but heavy enough to stagger us if we stop moving. And me? I still need somewhere to breathe.
It started months ago. One night, after a temp job cancelled at the last second, I couldn’t bring myself to go home early, to relieve the sitter. Instead, I ducked into this place. One moment became two. Then it became a routine.
And then came Sascha.
I stand as he approaches, tall, easy smile on his face.
“I thought I wouldn’t get to see you today,” I say, as he leans in to kiss my cheek. His lips brush closer to my mouth than they should, and for a moment, heat flares in my face. I shake it off.
He grins. “Like I’d let a holiday rush keep me away from you.”
Now, I know what you’re thinking. I’m a married woman. But the truth is—Sascha is the only person in my life who doesn’t need anything from me. Doesn’t expect me to hold it together, doesn’t measure me by my failures, doesn’t remind me of what I owe. He just sees me.
And God, it’s intoxicating to be seen.
I smile, forcing lightness. “So, how was the date?”
He makes a face, giving me a half-shrug. “Fine.”
“Fine?” I roll my eyes. “Did you ditch her?”
“Let’s just say she wasn’t my type.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You don’t even have a type.”
His smile changes, sharper. He reaches across the table, fingers brushing mine. “I do.”
The air between us shifts. My breath catches as I stare at his hand covering mine, then I pull back, clutching my phone instead. “I’m married. You know that.”
“Come on,” he presses, leaning forward. “All you do is complain about your husband and how absent he is. I could be there for you.”
I look away, grabbing my purse, trying to keep my voice steady. “Sascha—”
“Maria.” His voice softens, too soft. “We could be good together. You feel this. Don’t tell me you don’t. Leave him.”
I freeze.
For a moment, I can’t move. I just stare at the man I thought was my friend and realize I’ve been wrong. That what I thought was safe—a friendship, a reprieve, a place to breathe—was just another trap waiting to close.
“I thought you were my friend,” I whisper, clutching my purse.
“I am,” Sascha insists, eyes burning in a way that makes me want to look anywhere but at him. “I just… I can’t help it.”
