Chapters (60)
- Cover
- Books by Sheryl Browne
- Dedication
- KARLA
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Epilogue
- The Affair
- Hear more from Sheryl
- Books by Sheryl Browne
- A Letter from Sheryl
- The Babysitter
- The Second Wife
- Acknowledgements
They’re on the landing when I hear Josh ask, ‘Do I have to go to school, Dad?’ His voice is tearful and anguished.
‘No, Josh,’ Jason says hoarsely. ‘You don’t have to go to school. Not today.’
The day I broke my babies’ hearts. I clamp my hands over my face and gulp back the wretched sob climbing my throat. He’s stealing them, stealing my babies away from me.
No, he isn’t. The voice that speaks the guilt I will carry forever echoes in my head. It’s you who’ll be to blame if you lose them. You’re driving them away.
Thirty-Six
KARLA
It’s not quite light when I hear the bedroom door open. Jason, I guess, bringing me tea. I’m not sure why, after the vile things I said to him – with my children in earshot. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that. I don’t think my children will either.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks, as he places the cup on the bedside table next to me.
His voice is soft, concerned, and my heart breaks a little bit more. I don’t answer. I don’t dare, in case it initiates another argument. I don’t want to fight with him any more. I’m not sure I have the will to. I haven’t had the energy to do anything but stay cocooned in my bed, trying to escape the dark mood that hangs over me like a heavy grey blanket. I have no idea how to speak to him now, in any case. No idea whether there’s anything left to say.
Jason has been awkward around me. Obviously, he would be. At one point, I felt like I wanted to die, but I don’t want to leave my children. When I imagined that, I cried tears of raw grief. Silent tears. Jason was in the spare room, but I didn’t want him to hear me crying, my children to hear my heart breaking. He would care for them if I simply ceased to be, I know this to be true. He would also have enough money from the insurance to provide for them until he discovered what he wanted to do with his life, now he’s selling the business that ripped us apart.
I’ve no doubt his future plans include his notion of the perfect woman. Does he really imagine she exists? That I’m really so imperfect, since I adapted who I am to become a wife and a mother? Or did he think me imperfect before then?
‘I’ve brought you some tea,’ he says tentatively.