Page 88 of The Doctor's Twins

“You’ll get your turn. As I said, this isn’t a sprint.”

I couldn’t imagine what Mateo thought he’d accomplish by asking me questions, but I wanted to stall my imminent death, so I had no option but to humor him for the time being.

“What do you want to know?” I acquiesced.

“Where is my child?”

My temper hit the roof in about a nanosecond at that incredulous question. His child! How dare he claim someone he didn’t want. But I had to keep calm, so I took in a few deep breaths before I answered.

“Mychild is dead, thanks to you. You killed her when you threw me down the stairs. Remember that? Or were you too drunk?”

“No, I remember,” he barked.

I recognized the warning signs hidden in the tone of his voice, but I didn’t care at that point. My heart was filled with rage over my murdered daughter.

“What? Are you waiting for an apology?” he sniped. “I told you I didn’t want a fucking kid.”

“And you couldn’t have discussed that with me beforehand? Before we got married?”

“If you had taken the pill like you were supposed to, we wouldn’t be in this situation now, would we?”

“Are you fucking listening to yourself? Iwason the pill! It’s not one hundred percent effective, you know. It wasn’t as if I wanted to bring a child into this farce of a marriage. All you had to do was divorce me, Mateo. You didn’t have to try and kill me and our child.”

“No one leaves me, Peyton, or hasn’t your clever little brain worked that out yet?”

“So, that’s it. If you can’t have me, no one else can. Is that the tired old stereotype?”

“Where have you been hiding all this time?” Mateo asked, changing the subject.

Good! He didn’t know where I lived. He didn’t know about Ben!

Thank you, God!

“How did you find me?” I asked instead, avoiding his question.

“I told you. You’ll have your turn to ask questions. Answer me!” he growled.

“Boston,” I lied.

“And who in Boston are you fucking?”

“No one. I’ve had my fill of men, thank you.”

“Please. Bitches like you need a man in their lives.”

“What do you mean, bitches like me?”

“Nesters. You want the white picket fence and the two-point-five, snot nosed kids running around the house.”

“Wow! Why do you hate kids so much, Mateo?”

“They fuck everything up, that’s why,” he snarled.

“What’s the matter? Did mommy not love you enough? Too much? Did she tell you that you ruined her life? Cause I can see how she’d have a point, there.”

I was taking a dangerous chance. Employing amateur psychiatry must have struck a nerve because the next thing I knew, Mateo slapped me so hard across the face that my vision blurred.

“That bitch wasn’t fit to carry the title of mother!” he shouted.

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