Don’t Open Your Eyes

Chapter 1 Annabelle

Annabelle

“You’re a monster!” I scream, my chest heaving as my heart pounds wildly.

His eyes bulge, his face flushes red, and he looks like he wants to kill me.

I back away as he closes the space between us.

I’m wedged between his body and the kitchen counter.

I hate him right now with every fiber of my being.

I shove at him with all my strength, but he doesn’t budge.

I watch, helpless, as his hands reach up and circle my neck.

He begins to squeeze. I can’t get a breath.

I claw at his arms to no avail. My vision blurs.

Blindly, I reach my arm behind, my fingers fumbling until they close around the handle of a butcher knife.

With every ounce of strength I have left I pull it from the block.

I swing my arm around and aim the knife at his chest. He releases his grip and drops his arms, backing away.

I cough and rub my sore neck. He nonchalantly walks toward the door to the garage, his hand lingering on the handle a moment, then opens it.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I just got news I won best doc. It’ll be in next month’s Connecticut Magazine.

Thanks for voting.” He winks and walks out the door.

Annabelle Reynolds’s eyes flew open, and she sprang to a sitting position.

Her face was wet with perspiration, and a feeling of utter terror flooded her senses.

She drew a deep breath, and her eyes darted to the figure sleeping next to her.

She slipped from underneath the covers and grabbed her robe from the bench at the end of the bed, covering her naked body.

Shaking her head, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, glancing at herself in the mirror.

She splashed cold water on her face. You’re being silly.

It was just a dream. Yet the image of the two of them fighting, her husband’s face red and contorted with rage, had seemed so real.

It was especially jarring because they hardly ever argued.

Today was their wedding anniversary. Two children, one dog, two guinea pigs, and too many goldfish to count later, and she was happy.

As happy as she could be, despite everything that had happened before—when she had still believed in happy endings.

After she’d married James, she’d promised herself that she’d put it all behind her.

Over the years, Annabelle had tried to forget about the loss—to appreciate all she had gained.

And even though there would always be a part of her that missed him, a part of her that couldn’t let him go, she had to keep reminding herself that there was no point in missing something that was never meant to be.

So, she did her best to think of him less often, every year trying harder to force herself to forget, to be happy.

But maybe being happy was asking too much. Enough, she thought. Shake it off.

She brushed her teeth, mentally reviewing everything on today’s agenda.

After she dropped the girls at school, she had to swing by the drugstore to pick up an anniversary card for James.

Then she had a full day at work. As she stepped into the shower, she spoke her daily gratitude affirmations aloud.

“I’m thankful for my husband, my children, our good health, our beautiful home.

I’m thankful for a job I love, and good friends.

” She felt a little foolish doing this, but her last client, a successful author of self-help books, had told her how beneficial a gratitude practice was, not only to mental health, but physical as well.

Annabelle tried to be open-minded, so she’d committed to trying it for sixty days to see if it made any difference. She was on day ten now.

“Mind if I join you?” James’s voice cut through her thoughts as he entered the bathroom.

“Please do.”

He opened the door to the large shower and stepped inside.

“Happy anniversary,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck.

“Happy anniversary.” Annabelle turned and kissed him, trying to dismiss the earlier feelings of terror from her dream. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

A banging on the door made her pull back.

“Mooom, Parker’s throwing up! I think he ate another sock.”

She adored their golden retriever, but at times like this, not so much. Annabelle looked at James and rolled her eyes. “And that’s why…”

“I’ll go. Finish your shower.” He stepped out. “Olivia, I’ll be right there,” he called through the door.

Half an hour later, Annabelle was dressed and downstairs.

She walked into the kitchen, the smell of bacon filling the air.

It was her favorite room of the house, featuring a built-in fireplace with a cozy sitting area, a custom-made farm table, and double French doors opening to their deck overlooking their swimming pool.

Her mother had always said that the kitchen was the heart of the home, and some of Annabelle’s best memories were of the two of them sitting and talking in their tiny kitchen around their worn wooden table.

How she wished her mother was here now. She felt a pang of regret that her mother would never see her settled and content in such a beautiful place.

Annabelle had never imagined that one day she’d be living in a gorgeous house, walking distance to the beach, and close to downtown Bayport, one of Connecticut’s most charming towns.

Parker ran up to her and nudged her with his nose as if sensing her sudden melancholy.

She reached out to pet his head. “I hear you ate another sock, buddy.”

“He’s fine now. Someone must have left their socks out.” James gave Olivia a meaningful look.

“Wasn’t me!” their eleven-year-old protested.

“Well, I’m glad he’s okay,” Annabelle said, hoping to ward off a lecture from James.

He had made a full breakfast for Olivia and Scarlett: omelets, turkey bacon, toast, and an array of fruit.

Annabelle gazed at her girls. Scarlett was a carbon copy of Annabelle—light brown hair and green eyes.

James often commented that they were both the typical wholesome and natural, girl-next-door types.

Annabelle thought it was cute when people commented on how alike they looked, but lately Scarlett seemed annoyed by it.

Olivia was all James: blond and blue-eyed, with his bow-shaped mouth.

But her sunny personality came from Annabelle.

James handed Annabelle a portable mug. “I made your coffee with oat milk and no sweetener. Consuming all those artificial sugars is bad for you.”

“Yes, Doc,” she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

She’d add some sweetener after he left. A couple of Splendas were not going to kill her, but it was pointless to argue with him.

“I’m looking forward to our anniversary dinner tonight.

” They had reservations at her favorite restaurant in New York City, a little more than an hour’s drive from their house.

“Me too. Mom’s coming over at six to stay with the girls.”

Scarlett made a face. “We don’t need a babysitter. I’m fifteen. Gram doesn’t need to come over.”

“It’s nice for there to be an adult around with us being an hour away,” James said.

Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Come on, Dad. It’s not like you’re leaving the country. You’ll just be in the city.”

Annabelle and James looked at each other. “Well,” she began, “she does have a point. What do you think?”

James scratched his beard and shifted his gaze to Scarlett. “I don’t know. You and your sister tend to fight. Not sure you’re the best person to be in charge.”

“Give me a chance. Aren’t you the one so big on us learning responsibility?” Scarlett asked.

Annabelle suppressed a grin and said nothing, waiting to see his response.

He moved his head back and forth as he considered it. “Okay, we’ll give it a try.” He glanced at his watch, then gave Annabelle a peck on the lips. “You’d better hit the road if you don’t want to be late.” He looked over at the girls. “Take your plates to the sink and grab your backpacks.”

“I got it. You should get going, or you’re going to be late,” Annabelle said.

“Right. Have a good day, everyone.”

A few minutes after he left, Annabelle cleared the table while the girls gathered their things. They filed out and got into Annabelle’s Volvo XC90. Once they were on the road, she gave Scarlett a quick look.

“Make sure you’re not on your phone all night. I don’t want you to ignore your sister.”

“I won’t. We’ll watch a movie or something.”

“And no one coming over,” Annabelle said.

“Okay, Mom. Got it. Geez.”

“I’ll tell you if she does anything wrong,” Olivia piped up from the back seat.

“I’m not going to do anything wrong. Ugh!”

“And you call me right away if there’s a problem,” Annabelle said.

“There won’t be a problem! What did you get Dad for your anniversary?”

“Remember the photo of the four of us on the beach last summer at the Cape?”

“Yeah, you made us all dress alike like a bunch of dweebs,” Scarlett said.

Annabelle laughed. “It’s a great photo of everyone! I had it done in oil paints for Dad.”

Scarlett didn’t seem impressed. “Hmm. That sounds nice, I guess. Um, so, I was wondering—”

“What?”

“Did you have any other serious boyfriends before Dad?”

Annabelle’s hand tightened on the wheel as an image formed in her mind. For the second time that day, the old pain returned. All these years later, she still felt like a part of her was missing. “Why do you ask?” Annabelle made her voice light, buying time.

“Just wondering, you know, if there was anyone really special before Dad. Like, did you know right away that Dad was the one?”

“Do you mean, was it love at first sight?”

“I guess.”