Page 108 of The Widower
“You talk too much. Especially when you shouldn’t. You can keep your theory, and I’ll stick with mine.”
“All right, Colin Adams.”
She walked off practically bouncing, clearly convinced she was right—that I was, in fact, falling for her.
The things I have to put up with…
The problem is, if she is right, that’s not going to end well for anyone.
CHAPTER 25
“The moment when most doubts are finally cleared is often the one that hurts the most…”
COLIN ADAMS
Once again, today’s one of those days I have to leave the mansion for something I’m not proud of. It’s become part of my routine now—and no matter how wrong it might look to others, I still do what I set out to do.
I noticed Isabelle seemed a little restless, but I chose not to ask. Everyone has their own problems, and I already worry more than I should.
“You know… I’ve been counting the days,” she said out of nowhere as I passed by one of the rooms.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
“Be clear.”
I didn’t have the patience for cryptic comments—not today, of all days.
“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”
“Why are you asking?”
She stayed quiet for a moment. I couldn’t quite read her, which wasn’t unusual. Most things involving Isabelle were hard to interpret at first. I had no idea what kind of answer she wanted, but either way, I wasn’t about to tell her what I was doing. That was out of the question.
“You’re doing what I think you’re doing, right? Dealing with that… thing that always makes you angrier when you come back?”
“Don’t start, Isabelle. It’s none of your business.”I tried to keep my voice calm.
“Even so, I care more than you think. I can’t just ignore what I feel—and I try my best to help the people who matter to me.”
I didn’t want to, but I had to push her away—at least for today.
“Here’s some free advice,” I said flatly. “If you really know what these days are about, it’s best you stay far away from me whenever your calendar hits those dates.”
I didn’t give her a chance to say anything else. I just walked out of the mansion.
At the prison, I found myself face to face with that man—business as usual.
“How’s your shitty life going?” I asked.
“How long are you gonna keep doing this to me, man? For God’s sake…” He lowered his head; pity would be nice, but all I felt was anger.
“Invoking God now? If there’s a heaven and a hell, rest assured you’ll be in the worst corner of it.”
“And you? Tell me!” His voice shot up, as always.
“I don’t plan on going to heaven, and I’m not even sure I believe in it,” I said bluntly—because that was the truth.
“Man… you don’t have to be like this. I’m paying for everything, and you keep rubbing it in—please, stop.”
