Page 36 of A Convenient Secret
She’s hiding something, and to my chagrin, it only makes her even more intriguing.
But yeah, ignoring her from now on won’t be as easy as before, but with the summer coming, I might get lucky and not see her for months.
Good. Everything will be okay. Maybe I’ll go on a few dates, just to get her out of my mind. I cringe at the idea as I wrap the towel around my waist.
I would miss her grace and lightness. Even her noisiness, giggles, and chattiness. My Seagull.
No, not mine. Fuck. She’s eleven years younger. She has her life in front of her. I might be a selfish bastard, but I’m not going to ruin that for her.
Done. Tomorrow, this is over.
I check the feed and see a small form under the blankets of the guest bed. My mind immediately starts forming a new fantasy, but I shut it down before it has a chance to bloom.
I turn off the app and pull on my pajamapants. Sliding into my bed, I fold my hands under my head and close my eyes.
In some strange—and very unfortunate—way, this week was one of the most eventful in a long while. If I didn’t have good, legitimate reasons to resist the temptations, it could have been quite an exciting week as well.
But any chance for joy left with Kendra. I stare at the ceiling while I think about resolving her third reappearance in my life. The first two cost me a lot of money.
They would have resulted in a lot of emotional damage for the kids if they remembered: The first time, she pretended at the revival of her maternal instincts. The second time, I paid her off before she could get near them.
It’s not like they won’t be dealing with the abandonment issues as it is, but I won’t allow anyone to add real memories to those mental scars. Over my dead body.
She left them when they were only three months old. Who does that? She should have been automatically erased from their birth certificates. And if I wasn’t up to my neck trying to figure out how to survive her betrayal and protect the babies, I would have made that happen.
We had a day nurse and a night nurse back then. Iused to pay for a housekeeper, a cook, and a shopping assistant. I could have been home more, but my busy schedule doesn’t compare with her decision. ‘This life is not for me,’ as she put it.
And there goes my sleep. Thinking about my evil ex does that, with a hundred percent reliability.
Those first months when the babies were newborn, I spent a lot of time blaming myself. For sure, there is a responsibility I will carry for the rest of my life, but at least my therapist helped me see things for what they are.
My guilt trip wasn’t what Zoya and Zach needed from me.
I sit up and walk to the bathroom to have a drink of water. I shouldn’t have had that last whiskey. But sharing a glass with Lily was irresistible. Forbidden fruit. My demise.
I gulp down a glassful, and before I think about it, I leave my bedroom. To check on the kids.
To check on my daughter and my son who are sleeping peacefully, not realizing what a creep their father is.
Lily is only a few feet away. She is at my house. Sleeping, and equally unaware of my perverted mind.
Zoya sleeps, splayed across her bed. The girl travels around the mattress while she sleeps. A grin pulls atmy lips. Is it horrible that seeing my children sleep is one of my favorite parenting moments?
I peek into Zach’s room. My son has his hands behind his head, frowning even in his sleep. I read somewhere that newborn mammals resemble their fathers the most right after birth, to make sure he sticks around to protect them.
Zach is a mini version of me, and has been growing into that resemblance with an alarming dedication. It makes me proud, and marginally concerned for him.
Checking on my kids usually brings me serenity after a busy day. Tonight, the looming danger from their mother, and the sleeping beauty down the hall, take up my mental space, and any hope for calm disappears.
I’m about to return to my room when a sound stops me. Is Zoya crying? I glance back, but she is fast asleep.
Another sob reaches me, followed by a whimper. From the direction of the guest room.
Fuck. Is Lily crying? Did I make her cry?
It’s none of your business, I tell myself while I stay still.
“No.” A muffled cry presses against the silence.
