Chapter 3
Three
Emma
“Do you think Mum’s getting out of bed today?”
My youngest son, Jason, whisper-yells right outside the door of the spare room where I’ve been camped out for weeks.
“Just leave her. She needs to rest,” Noah replies.
“But, Dad—”
“That’s not a problem today. Let’s go back to the living room. We can find a movie to watch.”
What’s going on?
I open my eyes to a dark bedroom. The blackout curtains always made it impossible to tell what time of day it is. Rolling over, I reach for my phone beside the bed.
11:06 a.m.
Shit.
The kids have school. Noah has work. Why did I sleep so late? Malcolm.
Malcom’s dead.
Yesterday’s memories come flooding back, and I place my palm on my chest in a vain attempt to slow my racing heart.
“Noah?” I croak.
He pushes the door open and steps in.
“What are you still doing here? The kids …”
“I called their schools and told them what happened. And I took bereavement leave.” He holds up his palms. “I haven’t told them, and you know they won’t go into his room. They’re all in the living room now. Jase was hovering because he’s worried about you.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“I’m sure they suspect, but I knew you’d want to tell them together.”
“Thank you.”
“Take your time, Mum.” He smiles before he closes the door.
I blow out some long breaths before I sit up. It’s time to get out there and tell my children their father is dead.
I’m not sure how they’ll feel.
There was never a time when we were a happy family. Malcolm’s dark shadow was long and none of us have ever been free to be ourselves.
And with him sick, it’s only been worse these past few months.
Today, it’s like a cloud has lifted.
I draw in another deep breath and still my trembling hands.
I’m free.
It’ll take a while to fully sink in, but I never have to hear him demand anything of me, or for him to rage at me about some imagined slight and tell me what a terrible, useless woman I am.
The woman who nurtured his children—the woman who kept his house.
Life will be tough for a while. I have an account I have access to with a small amount of money, but most of it is solely in Malcolm’s name. Thankfully there’s no mortgage, and Noah will help, but we’ll have to scrimp for a bit longer until probate goes through and the funds are released to me.
If I have to sell things, I will.
I’m not even sure what there is, but I do know I’ll own the house and Malcolm had investments—enough that he didn’t have to work.
The past couple of years he also qualified for a pension, and I’m sure he claimed that even though he didn’t need to.
Whatever it turns out to be, I’ll be able to start planning our future.
I’m not sure how this goes—starting again at forty-three, but I have my children and they’re safe.
That’s all that matters.
After dressing, I make my way downstairs and into the living room.
For a moment, I take in the sight of my children. They know something’s going on—and my girls, the older of the three, have probably guessed.
Bailey is the eldest at sixteen. Two years later, we had Kiera. I thought that was it, and we were done, but Malcolm had other ideas. Jason’s now seven.
I exchange a glance with Noah.
“Theres something I need to tell you all.”
Jason looks at me with worried eyes, the other two just stare.
“Your father passed away last night.”
Silence greets me. After everything we’ve been through, I’m not sure how they feel about this. Before his illness, he was a loving but strict father. But they’ve all seen his behaviour with me—with Noah—and after he became ill was a very different story.
The sicker he got, the worse he behaved. By the end, he was frustrated at being bedridden and often took it out on me with harsh words.
I did what I could to protect them from it, but there was only so much I could hide.
“He’s gone?” Jason whispers.
He throws himself into my arms, and I hold him tight.
Bailey and Kiera slump like they’re relieved it’s over. They probably are. This illness wasn’t fair on anyone—not Malcolm with the pain he was in, and not us dealing with his decline.
“Yes, baby.” I press a kiss in Jason’s hair and close my eyes.
“Is he … still here?” he asks.
“No.” I let out a long breath. “You were all asleep last night when it happened. I thought it better to deal with then, rather than this morning.”
I open my eyes and Bailey’s gaze fixes on mine. “We all slept through it?”
“You did.”
She shifts her gaze to her little brother. “Good. I’m glad he’s gone.”
“Bailey.” Kiera’s lower lip wobbles. “It still would have been good to say goodbye.”
I swallow hard. “If you still want to do that, I’ll be talking to the funeral director later today to talk about our plans.”
“Are we having a funeral?” Jason asks.
“Your father didn’t want one. Do you want to do something?”
He looks up at me, his eyes full of tears. We all knew this was coming, and I sheltered Jason from the worst of it, but he was the one closest to his father. There was no way he didn’t know something was wrong, but he’s seven and being Malcolm’s only biological son, Malcolm treated him differently.
“Can we?”
“How about we have a special dinner. Just the five of us. And we’ll order whatever takeaway food you want and talk about your dad?”
He nods. I’m not sure having a funeral would consist of many more people, anyway. Even once we left the church, Malcolm kept us mostly isolated.
I just woke up, and yet I’m so tired. It’s a delicate tightrope I’ll walk the next few days—relieved this is over but dealing with everyone else’s feelings.
Bailey’s gaze meets mine again.
When she was little, she worshipped her father—completely unaware of the undertones of our relationship. I struggled with post-partum depression made worse by the isolation, but somehow, we made it through.
“I’ll make you a coffee, Mum. Do you want something to eat?”
As if on cue, my stomach grumbles. “Toast would be nice.”
“You got it.” She pecks me on the cheek before heading into the kitchen.
It’s going to be a very quiet day.
Everything’s so … normal.
After dinner, Noah fills the dishwasher before joining me on the deck in the back yard. The TV blares with a movie—some superhero thing, and I smile at the sound of my children enjoying themselves.
Tonight, there’ll be no designated bedtime. We’ll take it slow over the weekend with no pressure before I pack up Malcolm’s room and we move forward with his cremation.
“How are you doing, Mum?” Noah asks as he takes a seat beside me.
“I’m tired. It’s been a long day doing nothing.”
He laughs. “I bet it’s been a long time since you’ve done that.”
“Years.” I look up at the stars. “I’m going to need your help next week. The one thing Malcolm did that was useful was leave detailed notes on what I need to get together for the lawyer to apply for probate. There are documents I need to get verified by a Justice of the Peace, and …”
“I’ll do whatever you need. Just promise me you’ll relax this weekend? It’s the first break you’ve had in years. Let us look after you.”
I sigh. “I’ll try. A quiet house will take some getting used to.”
“I hate this house.”
His words make me swallow hard. I’ve felt the same way for years.
“You know I remember before we lived here. At least there were other kids to play with, and the house didn’t feel like a tomb. But this?”
“I know,” I whisper.
“What are your plans? You’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”
I smile. “I want to sell the house and get out of Christchurch.”
He raises one eyebrow. “Yeah? I figured you might want to move, but … where are we moving to?”
“We?”
“You’re not leaving me behind.”
I laugh. “I’d hoped you’d come with us, but I wasn’t sure. You’re old enough to live your life now.”
“So where are we moving to?”
I press my hands together and knit my fingers. “I thought, Napier.”
“That’s where you …”
“We lived there before my parents joined the church. Some of the best years of my life were there.”
Noah nods. “Is … is my father there?”
“I think so.”
His gaze hits mine so hard that I pull back a little. The truth is that I haven’t tracked Caleb. Once we left the church, more than eleven years had passed, and I didn’t want to find that he was married or had more children.
I also knew if I ever contacted him and he found out about Noah, he’d want to see him. That’s the type of person Caleb is. And I would be the one who lived with Malcolm’s retribution.
By then, Bailey and Kiera were born, and I was left agonising over what to do.
There was no way I could win. Either way, I’d be risking losing one, two, or all three of my children.
“You don’t know?”
“No.” I place my hand over his. “But even if he’s not, maybe his parents are there, and they will love you.”
“Maybe?”
“It’s been twenty-seven years. Anything could’ve happened.”
I’d do anything to save the anguish in my son’s eyes.
“When you left the church, why didn’t you tell him?”
My heart cracks wide open. I fought myself for years over this, tormented over the fact that no matter what I did, I’d lose.
“If he found out about you, then he would’ve wanted to know you. Can you imagine what Malcolm would’ve done?”
He recoils.
“If he had the chance to pass you off to your father, he would have. And I would’ve lost you.”
“But you could have come with me.”
“Do you really think he would have let me leave with the girls?”
Noah sets his jaw. “No.”
“Can you see that it was a no-win situation for me? Whatever I did, I’d lose someone. And I was scared, Caleb. Scared of Malcolm, scared of losing everything, scared of leaving the girls with Malcolm.”
His brows knit. “Do you think he would have done something bad?”
“I think he had no qualms about marrying a sixteen-year-old girl. He wasn’t a good man. You know that.”
“What did he do to you, Mum?” His eyes are so full of sadness, it makes me want to cry.
“I love you, Noah. But you’re not a therapist, and that’s who I need to talk to about this.”
“It’s worse than I realised, isn’t it?”
I give his hand a squeeze. “I know you’re an adult, but I can’t talk about a lot of this with you.”
“Mum.” He reaches for me, and I let him pull me into a hug. “I should have done more.”
“None of this is on you. None of it. We’re all free now and we’re going to start a new life. Got it?”
Noah nods.
“I love you and your brother and sisters so very much.”
“I love you too,” he whispers.