Page 1 of Cup of Lies

Romy

My mind is a liar.

It’s been playing tricks on me since I was a little girl. I’ve learned not to trust it. To be suspicious of every thought and skeptical of every memory.

I’m on constant alert, always at odds with my overactive brain.

Is it lying to you now?

Yes.

Somehow, deep in the hollow cavity of my chest, I feel it. There’s an empty ache inside of me, begging me to remember.

Except, everything is perfect.

People with perfect lives don’t agonize over strange feelings. They give in to the goodness around them and don’t take a second for granted.

I’m married to a hardworking man, have an adorable and sassy daughter, and each day grow bigger with a new little one on the way. My home is immaculate, and my heart is happy.

Liar.

The pain in my chest intensifies to the point I wonder if I’m suffering from heartburn.

Stop lying to yourself, Romy. Think.

The only time I can really do my thinking is when Seth is at work. At one time, I hated the long hours he put in, but more and more lately, I’m grateful for them.

Something doesn’t add up with him.

I absently rub at the newest bruise on my wrist. Seth says I’m clumsy and always bumping into things. How come I can’t remember when I do? Why does this bruise feel and look like a thumbprint that is the exact size of his?

Your mind is tricking you, Romy. He’s a good husband. You’re making something out of nothing.

Am I, though?

As I fold towels, I get caught up staring at the giant picture above our fireplace. It’s a wedding photo of me and Seth. The funny thing is, I can’t remember it. I’m not sure when it even took place. I refuse to broach the topic again, though, because it puts Seth in a dark mood. Sometimes I feel like I’m disappointing him—like I’m not turning out the way he thought I should be. But the picture is perfect—too perfect—as though someone painted on our fake, smiling faces. It doesn’t feel authentic to me.

I peek in on Kaitlyn, happy to see she’s quietly playing with her dolls. Since it’s raining, she can’t go outside to play. As much as I love to entertain her, sometimes I need a break.

Tiptoeing back to my room, I do my best to dig through the dark, hidey holes of my brain. Surely I’ll remember something about our wedding. Was Dad there? Bastian?

A flash of anger ripples down my spine, making my skin burn hot.

Strange.

Why does it feel like I should be mad at them?

Because they haven’t come to visit you in months.

Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I saw them. It’s like there’s a cloud sitting in the middle of my head, fogging everything up.

This is not normal. A person should remember things like their family and when they saw them last.

Usually, I feel like I would ask Seth for help, but…

A sliver of a memory enters my brain. An argument. Being held down by my husband, hand covering my mouth, while we have sex. Bitterness coils in my gut and it has nothing to do with morning sickness.

I’m going to throw up.

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