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Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

I could almost feel the icing residue, overly sweet and vibrantly dyed, on my teeth. The annoying questions: Why aren’t you eating cake? You don’t need to watch your weight? Are you having a hard day? Cake might be the solution!

“I don’t think so,” I said with a smile, annoyed that I couldn’t grab a coffee. If I walked into the break room, there’d be no escaping the party. “I’ve got to finish up and put out fires at home.”

“Party pooper,” she said, pursing her lips. “If you change your mind and come for cake,” she said, glancing in both directions, and whispering, “don’t mention Robin’s family. Her and Brooks just divorced.”

“Got it,” I said, shooting her with my finger gun and turning back to my desk. “See ya, Wren.”

Poor Robin. Divorce sucked big-time. When Trish had divorced me, I almost hadn’t made it to the other side. Those were dark days—alcohol-soaked days where I slept till 7 p.m. on the weekends I didn’t have Sawyer, woke up to eat ice cream, and went back to bed.

Before I remarried Heather, she and I had an understanding. No divorce, no matter what. Heather and I, we’d come up with a game. I wouldn’t divorce you if.

She’d once told me, “You could cheat on me with a young hot man—you’d better fucking not—but I wouldn’t divorce you.”

“You could shave your head and grow a full beard,” I’d told her. “I would help you comb it out.”

“You could crown all your teeth in gold,” she’d told me. “That shit looks so nasty, but I wouldn’t divorce you.”

We would explore the most outlandish, far-fetched, marriage-straining scenarios. Heather would laugh so hard. She loved this game to such an extent it was almost disturbing.

But it was a game, we kept it silly, and we never brought real-life horror into it.

As I sat down at my desk, another text came through. Same number as this morning.

-Meet me in two hours. Same place as last time.

I exhaled. I closed my eyes, considering my day. Things I had to do. What time I needed to do them. My life had come down to a schedule. Like a fucking wedding planner.

25

25

HEATHER

Desiree hadn’t texted me back yet. I’d put on jewelry, and lightened my makeup.

In the dining room, I kept six water bottles on the table. Each bottle held a thick stalk of milkweed. On each milkweed plant were one or two monarch caterpillars, several gorgeously fat. One had already formed a chrysalis, a brilliant creamy green teardrop, topped with a delicate metallic golden line like a crown of jewels.