Prologue
DANIELLA
Fuck! I swear I sat down to write for ten minutes.
How the hell did I manage to fall asleep?
Stupid question. I know exactly how it happened.
Running to and from the bathroom, vomiting all night– that’s how.
I snatch my laptop from where it landed on the floor, checking it for any sign of damage.
Nathan is going to be mad enough when he finds out I called out of work.
If I tell him I broke my computer writing after being too sick to go in?
The thought alone has me nauseous all over again.
He always says sick days are for children, claiming a grown woman should have the willpower to tough it out.
I learned to just suck it up after the last time.
I dragged myself out with a fever, only to be sent home.
He tossed my pillow onto the couch and didn’t speak to me for two weeks.
I told myself it was because he was stressed with work, so why am I so worried it’s going to happen again?
God I hope today is different. It won’t be, but a girl can dream.
Too bad he is already in a mood since I kept him awake last night.
This job is ruining him. Nathan used to be sweet and caring, at least most of the time.
As soon as we got married, he dragged me across the country to this tiny town.
Apparently, living in a town with a population of ten thousand works really well for his simple, rooted, family man image.
He told everyone I begged him to move away. Somewhere small, where everyone knows everyone else and our kids will be able to walk the street without fear. Somewhere I can get away from the hustle and bustle, letting me focus on my writing career.
What a joke.
He never supported my writing. Still, maybe if he sees how close I am to publishing my first novel, he will take me seriously.
Proud is too much to ask for, but I’ll be happy with silent indifference.
On silent feet, I shuffle down the hall, carefully sliding my computer back into its place in Nathan's office. I need everything exactly the same as when he left. I pull out my phone, hoping he would have at least texted to check on me only to be met with disappointment when the screen is empty. It shouldn’t come as a shock that the only thing on the screen is the time, but it hurts all the same.
Shit. 3:24 p.m. He is going to be home in a few hours and I managed to get exactly… nothing done.
“These stairs are going to be the death of me,” I mumble to myself, gripping the railing like letting go may very well kill me.
Every creak of the wood under my feet sends a new wave of pain through my throbbing head.
Dinner. A hot meal on the table when Nathan gets home.
That is the only thing I need to focus on right now.
Cleaning will have to come during dinner prep if I can even manage to stay on my feet that long.
Hopefully a clean house and nice meal will soften him up a bit.
I stuff my feet into my favorite pair of boots, throw my jacket on and sprint out the door.
It's a struggle to stay upright walking the three blocks to the store. Everyone I pass gives me a wide berth, eyeing me like I’m not a person but a walking petri dish.
The chill of the air feels incredible on my warm face.
That is, until the cold starts to bite at my already sore nose.
Maybe I should have just called a cab instead of walking, sick, at the start of winter.
It's too late now, I am already out, I just hope I can get what I need and make it home before Nathan does.
Relief hits when I turn the corner and spot the little sign outside the local grocery store. One good thing about being dragged to this quaint little town is the charming old main street. Shops line both sides of the road, with everything you could need all in one place.
Trying to keep my distance from all the healthy shoppers, I quickly pick out all the fresh herbs and vegetables I will need to make homemade chicken soup.
He can be mad all he wants about soup, I need fluids and something I can keep down.
A bag of noodles gets tossed into my basket and I dart for the front counter.
I’m already getting too hot. I need to get back out into the cool air before my fever spikes again and leaves me useless for the rest of the night.
Today is my lucky day, not a single person is in line.
I throw everything on the small counter, offering a tight smile to the small, older man scanning my items. He hands me my bag and I thank him profusely, rushing down the street to the butcher before I can head home.
The little bell on the door lets out a gentle ting when I step into the small butcher shop. Thank god I am so congested right now. If I wasn't, the smell of all the raw meat would absolutely send my stomach over the edge again. It's only been one stop and my luck has already run out.
I quickly step into line, trying to patiently wait my turn to order.
Sweat is starting to coat my body from this god-forsaken jacket.
Hopefully this line moves quickly so I can make it back into the cold.
My heart drops into my stomach when the phone in my pocket vibrates.
Did Nathan come home early? Did he find out somehow that I never went to work today?
My traitorous hand shakes when I pull it out, relieved to see just a feel-better text from Amara.
I shuffle forward with the rest of the line, grateful for the speedy men running the shop.
Finally my turn, my phone gets stuffed back into my pocket as I make my way to the counter.
Stepping up to the glass, I point out the chicken breasts I want. While the man wraps it, I look around, accidentally locking eyes with the mountain of a man working in the back. My cheeks get hot, no doubt turning red for my utter embarrassment.
He has to be at least six-foot-four, with arms the size of tree trunks.
He is covered in sprawling black and grey tattoos.
I’m pretty sure the guy just tells the cows to die and they do.
Stop looking at him dummy, you need to get your food.
I peel my eyes away the second he smiles at me, going back to looking at the floor, pretending the wood grain under my feet is the most interesting thing in the world.
The other man comes back, slipping a brown paper package into a bag for me.
The small card reader beeps when I tap my phone against it and I can’t get out of there fast enough.
The door lets out a painful groan when I make it back home.
Maybe when Nathan is in a better mood I can ask him to fix it.
And take a look at the stairs before I really do break my neck.
The vintage clock in the entry reads 4:38.
I don’t have time to think about repairs right now.
I strip my coat and shoes off, leaving them neatly by the door.
The chicken is searing in the heavy pot, while veggies and herbs are simmering away in bone broth, making the house smell incredible.
I make quick work of scrubbing the counters and getting dishes put away, loading the dishwasher with everything I used to cook.
I don’t know if it's the steam from the bubbling soup, or the handful of flu meds I took, but I managed to get everything clean with plenty of time to spare. I’m in the middle of filling two bowls with the steaming hot food when the door groans open again.
“Hi sweetie,” I yell as cheerfully as I can muster, grimacing at my own raspy voice.
No response. Awesome. Rushing from the kitchen to greet him, I stop dead when I see the scowl on his face.
There is no love, or worry, or any sort of kindness in his eyes.
Just anger and disgust when he sees me. “Dinner is done, I was just plating it up. If you go wait at the table I’ll bring it out. ”
He didn’t even bother trying to hide how mad he is when I placed his bowl in front of him.
His sigh is enough to tell me how disappointed he is in the meal.
Why the hell didn’t I just make one of his favorites?
It's not like I didn’t know he wouldn’t be satisfied.
I just had to go and give him something else to be angry about.
His spoon scrapes against the bowl so loud I swear he is going to break it.
I hurry back with my own food, gently setting it on the table.
I push the noodles aimlessly around the bowl, taking only a few small sips of broth.
Not much of an appetite anymore. Nathan watches me, barely taking more than a few bites of his own meal.
“How was work?” he asks, letting his spoon go clattering into the bowl, splashing liquid onto the table. I can feel his eyes on me as I reach over to wipe it up.
Nathan already knows the answer. He has to. Lying will only make him more angry. My eyes drop to my feet. Mustering up all the courage I can find, I quietly tell him. “I didn’t go. I think I have the flu.”
“I know. I got an alert from the camera in my office. You call out sick but you’re well enough to sneak into my space and work on that meaningless little hobby of yours?” he shouts.
The table shakes from his hand slamming into it so hard.
My heart pounds in my ears. I jump up, trying to clear the table, apologizing as much as he will allow.
Something is different about today. Maybe he had a bad day at work and I just made it worse.
I don’t know, but the look in his eyes has me more on edge than normal.
“I’m sorry. I was up all night. I couldn't go to work like this–”
“Oh I know. You kept me up with you, forced me to be awake and miserable while you played sick!” Nathan's booming voice makes me stumble back. Seeing that only makes him worse. He shoves himself from the table, stalking over to where I am hopelessly trying to clean up.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I really didn’t mean to keep you up, that's why I ended up sleeping on the bathroom floor. I tried to rest all day, but that chapter I have been stuck on finally made sense–”
He slaps me so hard I go tumbling to the floor.
The taste of blood fills my mouth. He hit me.
That bastard fucking hit me. My fist is already clenched as I scramble back to my feet ready to hit back.
I may have tolerated a lot, but not this.
His eyes dart to my hand and his face twists into something dark, something I have never seen from him before.
Run.
Before he can grab me I turn on my heels and run through the kitchen, hoping I can make it to the door before he makes it to me.
Nathan cuts through the dining room, beating me to it.
I need to get out. I hate this stupid old house, the backdoor only leads to a dark alley that's been fenced off since the day we moved in.
Stairs. If I can make it up I can lock myself in the bathroom, call for help. No time to think, I sprint for the staircase, as fast as my legs will take me. My lungs burn with the effort. I duck under his arm, scrambling up. Almost to the top. Fingers dig into my ankle, yanking me down to my knees.
I have never seen him this angry. Gripping the rungs of the banister, I kick out with my other leg. A sick crack rings out under my foot. Nathan screams. Ignoring the sickening thuds, I scramble to get my footing and run, not stopping until I reach the bathroom.
The door slams closed. It feels like I fumble with the lock forever before it finally turns.
I drop to the floor, letting the hot tears burn my stinging cheek.
With my back to the door, I fumble with my phone.
My finger hovers over the numbers, but I can’t bring myself to press the green call button.
Minutes tick by. The house is quiet. Nathan has probably calmed down and realized what he did.
I’m sure he is just giving me space, waiting for me to approach him before he apologizes.
My gut twists and turns, screaming not to go out there.
Feeling like I am going to be sick, I slide myself across the cold tile floor, just enough to pull the door open.
I crawl to the railing overlooking the entryway.
When I look down, I run straight back to the bathroom to be sick.
I empty the contents of my stomach before finally pressing the button.
Tears stream down my face when the dispatcher on the other end answers.
“I think I just killed my husband.”