Page 51 of The Deadly Candies

Kathy blinked hard, the name sinking in, the memory stirring.

"Janey?"

The woman nodded. "Hello, Kathy," she said softly. "I have really been looking forward to seeing you."

Kathy’s chest tightened, and suddenly she was eight years old again, clinging to a faded memory of a woman with soft hands and a honey-sweet laugh.

"Janey."

"Auntie Janey!"

She flew down the last few steps, throwing herself into her aunt’s waiting arms. Jane swept her up, holding her tight, and Kathy let herself fall into the embrace—a rare, precious moment of love that she hadn’t felt in far too long.

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she didn’t care.

She held on and nearly wept with joy.

Harlem, New York – 1949

“Mmm… morning, sweet baby,” Henry murmured, his voice croaked with sleep as he turned over, reaching for his wife.

Brenda smiled softly, but before she could respond, he was on her. And Lord, it feltgood—to have him warm and solid in her arms again, to feel the weight of him pressing her into the mattress. Henry’s kisses alwaysawakenedsomething deeply needful inside her womanhood, something she had locked away for so long. His lips, his strong hands, the way he claimed her—it made her feel cherished, wanted, loved.

And yet, even as her body responded—arching beneath him, shivering at the way he moved inside her withease and precision—a shadow lingered.

“I missed you so much, baby,” Henry groaned against her skin, his hips rocking into hers with slow, steady thrusts. His breath was hot in her ear, his grip possessive. “Don’t ever push me away again.”

Brenda’s bodyfroze. The words stung, sharp as a needle piercing her skin.Push him away?That’s what he thought she had done?

It wasn’tpunishment.

It was grief.

She wanted to scream,I needed time, Henry! I needed to breathe! I needed to mourn!

They had lost their only child, their baby girl, and he had the nerve to speak as if she had beenpunishinghim for fun.

Had he not missed Kathy the way she did? Had he notdied a little insidewith every passing day?

Brenda moved stiffly beneath him, her hands clenching at the sheets. Henryfeltthe shift, sensed the walls closing in around her. He stopped moving, breathless, searching her face.

“What’s wrong, Brenda?” he panted.

She opened her mouth to say it.

To tell him that she needed her child more than she needed this. To tell him he was wrong. To demand that he bring their daughter home.

But that wasn’t how their marriage worked.

A woman had to becarefulin her household. There were ways to guide a husband toward the right decision, tonudgehim into believing it was his own.

And there were ways to punish him if he could not see what was right.

So, Brenda swallowed her grief and reached for him instead, cupping his face in her hands. She pulled him down into the kiss he wanted, let her hips move and pelvis thrust the way he liked. If this was what it took to regain control and keep her family, she would give it to him.

A soft moan left his lips as he turned her onto her stomach, entering her from behind. Brenda gripped the top of the mattress, pressing her forehead against the pillow, closing her eyes tight as he pumped into her, hard and fast, dragging her body to the edge of pleasure. She let herself go, let the release take over as he shuddered above her, triumphant in his conquest.

When he finally collapsed onto her back, panting into her ear, his sweaty chest slick against her nightdress, he mumbled words of devotion.

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