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Back The Marriage Trap: A completely addictive psychological thriller Save as PDF
Chapters (60)
  1. Cover
  2. Books by Sheryl Browne
  3. Dedication
  4. KARLA
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Thirty-Four
  39. Thirty-Five
  40. Thirty-Six
  41. Thirty-Seven
  42. Thirty-Eight
  43. Thirty-Nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-One
  46. Forty-Two
  47. Forty-Three
  48. Forty-Four
  49. Forty-Five
  50. Forty-Six
  51. Forty-Seven
  52. Forty-Eight
  53. Epilogue
  54. The Affair
  55. Hear more from Sheryl
  56. Books by Sheryl Browne
  57. A Letter from Sheryl
  58. The Babysitter
  59. The Second Wife
  60. Acknowledgements

He’s right about my father. Everything he says is true. What my father did to the person who was once closest to my heart opened my eyes to this fact years ago. The awfulness of it haunts my dreams. I wish I’d told. Made him tell. I was young, too young to realise the significance of Sarah losing consciousness when she fell, but my father would have. My mother would have. Had she not been by the bedside of my dying gran, she would have been there. She would have done something. I should have rung her at the hospital. The number had been there on my father’s desk. I should have said something. He should have.

I wish I could go back. See my sister again, hold her. Tell her that, no matter how much we argued, I loved her. That I’m sorry.

I would have told, Sarah whispers in my head.

She would have. Had it been I who was unconscious, Sarah would have stood up to him. Always the more confident one, she wouldn’t have allowed herself to be silenced by him. I was weak, but I gathered strength as I grew, began to see my father for who he really was: a man who would instil fear in a child. His own child. Who thrived on the fear he could instil in other people. I fought for my daughter. I fought for Jason. I will always fight for him, though he doesn’t realise that’s what I’m doing, trying to secure his future. Our future. I didn’t fight for my sister.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I hear Jason breathing. He’s lying still, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. Sometimes he will throw an arm across his forehead and drift into a fitful sleep. More and more lately, he will toss and turn, pummel his pillow. When he does finally drift off, he will wake with a jolt, his own troubles haunting him. I so wish he would let me help him. Yes, it’s my father’s money, but it will be mine one day, after all. Surely putting some of it to good use now, when we need it, makes sense.

I feel him stir then, drawing a deep breath into his lungs, sighing it heavily out. ‘Sorry,’ he murmurs.

And my heart aches for him. It’s not his fault. It’s mine. I should have known better. Raising the subject of him taking a loan from my father was inevitably going to lead to us arguing. Jason wants to make things right, of course he does. But how can he? The bank has turned him down. We’ve already raised money against the house. He has no other options. He doesn’t stand a chance of raising the capital he needs to clear his debts and get someone else with the relevant computer science experience on board.