Page 73 of Finding Amanda

Her heart stuttered.

He shifted the paper into the hand with the black silk and grabbed the box, peering into the bottom of it. Finding nothingelse, he slipped both items back into the box and slid it across the counter.

Tentatively, she lifted the black silk and pushed the box away. The fabric coiled on the kitchen counter. She forced herself to exhale as she studied the garment. Yes, there were the skinny lace straps. There was the matching lace that lined the bottom hem. And there was the ragged edge. Suddenly she was sixteen again.

"Don't get dressed yet," Gabriel had said.

She'd dropped her sweater to the hotel room floor. Rarely did she defy him—he asked so little of her, but she was cold and tired and sore. Always sore. She'd thought that's how she was supposed to feel after. It wasn't until she married Mark that she realized sex wasn't supposed to be painful.

"Hurts so good," Gabriel had told her once, quoting a stupid song from John Mellencamp or John Cougar or whatever his stupid name was.

She didn't want to stay naked, because that meant they weren't leaving, which meant, in another hour, he'd want to do it again. She wanted to go home. She lacked the courage to say that, though. Instead, she pouted. "But I'm cold."

Gabriel flipped back the blankets. "Come back to bed. It's warm in here."

She looked at the scratchy sheets, then at his face. Expectant. Insistent. She sighed. Obviously a break wasn't in the cards, but at least she could cover herself—protect herself from his leering.

Not leering. Admiring. That's what he always said.

She remembered the gift he'd given her that night. Perfect. She slipped on the black nightie and approached the bed.

"Take it off."

"I'd rather . . ."

But before she could finish the sentence, he was out of bed. "Take it off now. Please," he added, as if it were a request.

"It's so silky and pretty and?—"

He grabbed the bodice in both hands and tore the fabric while she stood motionless, shocked. The silky material ripped easily, but the lace trim at the bottom wasn't so cooperative. With a solid yank, he managed to tear it.

The nightie landed on the floor. Amanda somehow landed in the bed. The flicker of fury in his eyes terrified her.No, no, no!She was sure she'd said it out loud, but he must not have heard her because he didn't stop.

She was safe now, despite the foul thing her hand, but that didn’t change the memories that threatened to drag her down into a pool of horror and shame.

She dropped the fabric onto the edge of the granite countertop, where it slid to the kitchen floor.

Then somehow she was in Mark's arms, weeping into his chest, the soft fabric of his T-shirt absorbing her tears.

The sounds of their daughters' laughter filtered through the open window, but Amanda barely heard them above her own sobs.

Mark whispered in her ear. "Shh, you're safe. I promise you, he'll never touch you again."

She held on to that. Mark would protect her. Mark would never let anybody hurt her. And yet . . .

"He was here," she said through sobs. "He was at our house. On the doorstep."

"Shh, I know. We'll figure it out."

It was only then she remembered the folded paper. Pushing away from Mark, she reached into the box and retrieved the note, written in his perfect, slanted cursive.

I've heldonto this for years, eager to return it to you. Do you remember how you left it, puddled and forgotten, on the floor? I waited for you to ask for it back, but you never did. You have no idea how much that hurt me.

Don't worry, Amanda. I forgive you. Though I only saw you in it once, it was worth it. Never forget the lesson you learned that night. Do you remember how we loved each other then? My love has never faltered. Apparently yours wasn't as strong.

Remember your promise, Amanda. I'll see you soon.

Amanda setthe paper down and faced her husband. "You're right."

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