Page 305 of The Professor's Wife

It was no existence at all.

Seneca’s words flashed through me.

“While we wait for life, life passes.”

I opened my eyes and stared at myself. I watched the fear slip away and determination build before my eyes. Transformation happens gradually, and yet I didn’t realize I was already ready. I saw the woman before me now, hiding behind a wall of rules and order. But that wall had been crumbling for years. I had contested against him enough that I could see the foundation giving out. The hardness lay dormant inside me, but it was there. I watched it stare back at me. I watched it say, “Do it now or you will never have this courage again.”

“Okay,” I whispered at my reflection. “Okay.”

I quietly opened the bathroom door and stepped out. I heard the scrape of the fork against the plate as Oliver ate. I moved in the opposite direction, soundlessly slipping into the laundry room. I stood still for several long moments, my ears straining for nearby footsteps.

I took a few deep breaths and then I moved to the linen basket and stooped down. Burying my hand beneath the layers of sheets, I discovered the familiar shape of the foil tablets and removed them—

“Daisy?”

I froze at his voice. For a second too long, I didn’t move. My face burned as I stood up quickly and spun around to look at Oliver. He was still chewing on his last bite of food, but his chews slowed as he looked at me and then down at the basket.

“Are you alright?” he said, though it didn’t sound like a question.

No, I was not alright. I was about to have a nervous breakdown.

I glanced at the doorway behind him and then at him, managing, “No, I’ve been unwell.”

“Why didn’t you return to me? I would have comforted you.”

“You know how I pace.”

He didn’t speak for a few moments, his eyes narrowing on me. The concern he feigned moments ago was gone, replaced by cold indifference, though his voice still hadn’t caught up when he sweetly asked, “Why do you look guilty, Daisy?”

I shook my head, but it felt jerky. “No, not at all. Just sickly, Oliver.”

He considered that response for a moment before slowly giving me a nod. “Come to me.”

I walked to him, though my knees wobbled at every step. I stopped before him, my eyes pinned to his chest. I could feel him assessing me, his eyes roaming me head to toe. “What were you doing in here?”

“Laundry.”

“The laundry is in the hamper in the bedroom.”

“Other things need washing.”

“Like what?”

“Like the bed linen.”

He was quiet for a second. Then, “Bring me that basket you had your hands on.”

My eyes flared as I gaped up at him. His eyes met mine. I couldn’t read his expression. He looked down at me, his expression empty, and then his brows jumped up, expectantly. I nodded once at his command and turned around. I went to the basket and picked it up. The basket was light, but every step felt heavy as I moved to him, swallowing hard when I extended thebasket out for him to take. He grabbed it, and I watched him as he rifled through the linen. His face remained inexpressive, even when he found nothing. He set the basket down, rumbling out, “Eat with me.”

We returned to the kitchen moments later. He sat down on the kitchen chair and watched me as I gathered the plates he’d emptied. “Stay off your feet today, Daisy. You’re pale.”

I nodded, offering him a small smile. “After breakfast, I can join you in the office and read.”

“I have a couple appointments first.”

I rinsed the dishes in the sink, sounding dejected as I let out a simple, “Oh.”

“But afterwards you can join me.”