Chapter 31
Turns out I really needed that jacket.
I tiredly turn the key into my apartment, which only has two floors.
It has a staircase that I walk up to get to the second floor, where there’s a row of doors, little studios that function more like rooms that just so happen to have a kitchen in the corner, a bathroom tucked away, and other niceties that seem too small.
Still, this has been home for me.
As much as I try to get into the rhythm of my monotonous life, my mind keeps assaulting me with images of Lincoln.
With how much he seems to care about me.
Although I know that’s bullshit.
He’s probably off somewhere with Sarah right now.
Because those two are always together.
Not like marriage ever got in the way.
Because why would it? Why am I any match for a pretty woman at my husband’s job? Ex-husband, rather.
I just wish I could wake up from this very bad dream.
It was nice of Lincoln to bail me out. But like he said, it was the least that he could do.
The following weeks are crazy. Of course everything got blown out of proportion, because how could it not? It’s my own fault.
I made a scene.
And, not like it’s a surprise, but the homewrecker went on record, claiming that she was attacked.
Claiming that I was the angry ex-wife who was jealous of her.
And then came the hate comments, aimed straight towards me.
People who don’t even know me.
Who don’t even know the full story.
Thinking they have the information they need just based off of one person they don’t even know.
I hate the internet.
Every single one of those assholes is fake.
Imagine they end up in that situation, and they’re so quick to play victim.
But when it’s someone they don’t even know, it’s like all their humanity goes out the door.
My father called me, wondering if I was okay, having seen the blurbs on the news.
When I saw my picture up there, it was horrible.
There’s nothing more violating than the news station taking a photo of you from your social media, which is private, but because someone follows you and has it, they put it out there publicly for everyone to see.
Because I am Lincoln’s ex-wife.
All the spotlight that was on him, because of what he was able to achieve at Helion, and of course, on his brimming romance with Sarah, according to the internet… now they need an evil stepmother or an antagonist.
And that’s where I come in.
It’s very painful because nobody knows the true story of what happened.
Lincoln isn’t saying anything about it.
And he probably can’t. Because how’s he going to look to the company if he comes out with that kind of scandal?
He’d probably get fired, and it would look really bad on them.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they already knew about what happened between him and Sarah, but told him to keep his mouth shut for the sake of public perception.
So the scapegoat has to be me.
Of course, when I tried to go back to work, I was promptly told that I didn’t have a job.
They could not hire me.
And I couldn’t work there anymore, of course.
I don’t know why that was surprising.
You don’t beat up a customer and make the headlines and then come back thinking you still have your job.
It’s like all the bad luck happened to me while everybody else that hurt me gets to go free.
Whatever.
Now I just have my remote job.
And this apartment is pretty expensive.
The remote job isn’t enough to cover it.
Also, the money left over from my mom’s life insurance is almost out, running low, because healthcare is so damn expensive.
And my dad is getting worse. He’s going to need more surgeries.
Of course, he’s better than he was.
And he stays like that for a little while… until something else crops up.
Doctors said something about degenerative tissue and damage over time.
At this point, I feel conspiratorial, wondering if they’re keeping my father sick for the money.
Of course, there’d be no way for me to prove it.
But I swore, just like my mom, that I would take care of him.
He busted his body to take care of us.
And with my mom gone, I’m going to do the same.
But I can’t do it just on this meager salary at my remote job.
No restaurant will hire me.
Not after my face is all over the headlines, having attacked the country’s freaking sweetheart, Sarah.
If they only knew.
I could come out and say something.
But maybe I’m an idiot.
I don’t want the drama.
Because people are going to ask more questions.
And it’s going to make Lincoln look bad.
He deserves to look bad.
But it’s also very private and extremely embarrassing for me.
Even if I’m the victim, it’s actually easier right now for me to be the bad guy and for this to all fizzle out and go away, rather than there be a scandal about how, when Lincoln was currently working at the job he’s known for, he slept with Sarah.
Knowing the internet and how weird they are, they’d probably get off on that shit. Since everyone wants him and Sarah together so freaking badly, they can have their happy ending. I just want peace and quiet.
I’ve been walking all over town, hopping shuttle to shuttle, looking for jobs. Filling out applications online and in person. It’s insane, how impossible it suddenly becomes to find work the moment you actually need it.
You’re either “too qualified,” “underqualified,” or they just don’t want you but don’t have the balls to say why. It’s a helpless feeling, knowing you need a job badly and seeing no end in sight. Eventually, I stop in the middle of a park and just breathe.
I even went to Hudson Vale to see if they had anything there. Nothing, of course. I look for delivery jobs, the ones that Lincoln and I used to do.
They’re at capacity as well. I have to do something soon.
So I call my cousin.
“Yeah. Do you have any jobs out your way in North Carolina? Like anything at all?”
“Unless you want to be a hooker, plenty of jobs with that,” Jada chortles.
I laugh, because Jada always makes me laugh.
“You could try looking at churches,” she tells me. “They’re always looking for new people. It doesn’t pay well, but it’s something.”
The last thing I want is to be judged going to a church.
People obviously use the internet and know who I am.
I just want to fade back into obscurity.
Online, I look for everything I can. Babysitting, cleaning.
Of course, I got accepted to a babysitting job, which was easy enough until the parents asked me if I had an altercation at Macady’s. Humbly, I admitted I did, but it was a very nuanced situation. The parents didn’t want to hear any more after that.
They didn’t want someone violent around their child, understandably. I can’t even blame them.
And to make things worse, my remote job laid off a bunch of people. Guess who was among them?
I’m going to end up being homeless.
Then I get a ping.
Wow. It says the listing is right here in New Denver.
This is good.
House cleaning and cat sitter.
I love animals, anything that has to do with animals, I’m okay with it, but they also want me to house-sit.
I answer back immediately, feeling desperate, hoping the recruiter won’t sense that on me.
I type out a short blurb:
“Hi! I would absolutely love to take the job. I enjoy cleaning, I love animals, and I’m available whenever you need me. Please let me know if there’s anything else you’d like from me.”
The homeowner writes back and says, great, asking me if I can start on Monday.
I would start now if I could.
Smiling, I lay down in bed for the first time in a long while feeling… hopeful. I had even peeked again at what he said he was going to pay me, $40 an hour. Jesus Christ. At first, I thought it was just an up-front thing or a typo, but after I reread the messages, he literally meant $40.
Unless it was a mistake.
Yah. Probably a mistake.
People say stuff like that to lure you in and trap you.
But honestly? It doesn’t even matter. Even if he ends up paying me $15 an hour, I’ll take it until I can find something better.
For now… I’ll take the hope.
When Monday morning rolls around, I take a shuttle up to the place. It’s pretty remote. There are other houses in the area, but they’re not on top of each other, and this one is separated by a row of evergreens. Private, tucked away.
This is perfect. Some peace and quiet. And if I’m expected to clean the house, maybe it’ll be while the family is gone.
As I walk up the steps, the doorbell light pops on and pings, recording me. It beeps at my motion.
This house looks like one of those postcard houses you see in commercials, the kind I used to watch growing up as a kid. There’s an unlocking noise, then a voice through a speaker, distorted and radio-like.
Door is open, the person says.
It comes in garbled, but I hear enough. I open the door.
“Hello?” I call out.
The place is empty. No footsteps, no greeting.
Just silence.
Then I hear a soft little bell, and I’m almost scared out of my skin when a brown tabby comes trotting right up to me. My face lights up instantly.
I don’t even have to see him to know.
I can feel it.
“A kitty! Oh my gosh, hi kitty.” I smile as I scoop him up. He’s wearing a cute blue collar with a bell on it. “Hello, kitty,” I coo, tickling his belly while he pushes his face into my hand.
“Oh my god, you’re so freaking cute. I’m gonna love spending time with you. Where’s your family?” I ask him, glancing around, not expecting him to answer, obviously.
I walk deeper into the house but try not to wander too much. “Hello?” I call out again, waiting for someone to reply.
A speaker somewhere crackles.
I’ll be home shortly, a male voice says.
It sounds familiar… but then again, every voice sounds familiar through a speaker.
“Okay,” I answer, not sure if he can even hear me.
Just make yourself comfortable, the voice says.
Whenever a stranger says that in their house, I always think it’s funny. How exactly are you supposed to do that? You don’t know the place, you don’t know the person, and you have no idea what kind of energy they bring. Comfortable? In a stranger’s house? That’s a stretch.
“Well, kitty,” I say, “you definitely make that easier.”
“If I’m going to be spending all my time with you, this is definitely going to be worth my while. Especially if I’m getting paid for it,” I whisper, lowering my voice as if someone could hear me. “That’s our little secret though,” I add.
I sink into the leather couch with him, stroking his fur. This place is beautiful. Clean. Minimalistic. A little too minimalistic, honestly.
Whoever owns this house is very basic. I thought it belonged to a family, but… now I’m not so sure. There are no toys, no family pictures. Actually, there are no pictures at all. Just a couple of plaques on a wall nearby, nothing personal.
I stay still, because if there’s a camera in here, and I fully expect there is, I don’t want to look like a creep snooping through someone’s home. So I just sit with the kitty curled up on my chest.
I don’t even realize I’ve fallen asleep until I’m being shaken awake. My eyes snap open and I stretch, confused for a split second before the truth slams into me. I’m not at home.
I bolt upright.
“I’m so sorry—”
The apology dies in my throat.
Because when I stand up and drag in a breath, I choke on it.
I’m face-to-face with Lincoln.
My ex-husband. Lincoln.
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