Page 17 of His Son's Wife
White and light grey, wearing a pale pink hoodie. Pom pom and everything. At least half the size of my pillow.
He’d set it down beside me without a word and tucked us both in.
I didn’t complain about the bedtime after that.
Not when I had a penguin to cuddle.
Not when I had happier memories to return to.
I wrapped my arm around Pandora, fixing her cerise pink zip before pulling her in for a morning cuddle. She clashed magnificently against the cornflower blue—her two-tone pink jacket completely unbothered by the colour scheme.
Nothing and no one was perfect.
And I was okay with that.
???
The white T-shirt and grey sweatpants were very fetching.
Me and Pandora watched him open the curtains.
“Good morning,” he said, turning to face us. Both of us, apparently.“Would you like to do some reading in the office with me after breakfast?”
I shook my head.
“Colouring in?”
I considered the colouring books and glitter gel pens on the desk and nodded.
It was a mindless task that kept my thoughts from wandering too far. Kept my hands busy. Kept the quieter, darker thoughts from finding the gaps.
Because he would be livid by now.
Frothing at the mouth.
Looking.
No. Today was going to be a dickhead free day.
He walked across the room.
That’s when I noticed the bulge. That thick unmistakable longish bulge. It was hard to decipher. Was it long? Or thick? Or both?
I closed my eyes.
Yet the shame didn’t come.
Daddy Asher should not look the way he did. It was unreasonable. Inconsiderate, even. I was a woman in recovery with a fractured rib and a penguin named Pandora and I did not have the emotional bandwidth for this.
I was sure he was doing it on purpose.
Why had I never noticed those sweatpants before?
“Mrs Davis won’t be happy if the food gets cold.”
His voice penetrated through my thoughts at a deeply inconvenient moment.
Lydia loved me. She wouldn’t say a word. Not until I’d safely left the kitchen.
