Page 25 of Faded Rhythm

It’s time to focus.

There are two little girls in this house who don’t know they’re in the middle of a war zone. They have no idea who their father really is. They don’t have an inkling of the danger their mother is in.

Wasin.

As long as I’m around, she’s safe.

I lean back in the chair, my eyes scanning the hallway, ears straining for the smallest sound.

Inside the room, I hear a faint sigh. I can’t help but let myself picture her, just for a second.

Cozy in that big bed that hasn’t seen any action in a long time. Bare legs tangled in the sheets. Warm, soft skin. Full lips, probably parted. Hair tied up in a scarf of some sort. I bet she looks beautiful like that.

But I’ll never know.

12

Sable

I wake up tangledin a mess of sheets. I’m not even completely sure I slept last night. I remember tossing and turning, but not much else. My neck aches, and there’s a dull stinging in my eyes that won’t quit. My body feels heavy, my nerves buzzing beneath my skin like they’ve been electrified.

I sit up, disoriented. Morning light streams through the blinds in pale streaks, and I can guess by their brightness that it’s later than 6 a.m., my normal waking time. I rub my eyes, then head to my bathroom on autopilot. I barely taste the toothpaste. In the shower, the scalding hot water doesn’t faze me. I don’t feel present in my own body for some reason. It’s unnerving.

Naked and damp, I stare at my reflection, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. She has shadows under her eyes and stiffness in her shoulders. She looks like she aged ten years in one night. But worst of all, she looks lost.

I stare at her and wonder,where did I go?

I was so vibrant before. Laughing, singing, dancing. I had dreams. I had desires. I was so damn free before Brett. What the fuck happened to me?

My brows crinkle as a smell reaches my nose—bacon.

I freeze.

Panic rushes in so fast, I barely have time to grab a towel. I wrap it haphazardly around my body and yank open the bathroom door, hurrying barefoot down the hall, water dripping behind me.

The girls’ rooms are empty. Beds made.

Oh God.

Brett came home early.

I nearly trip as I take the stairs two at a time, heart pounding so hard, I think I’m having a medical emergency.

Then I see them.

They’re sitting at the breakfast bar, legs swinging, faces smeared with grease and syrup. Their giggles echo in the air while King stands at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes and telling jokes, apparently.

I clutch the towel tighter around myself as my breath catches in my throat. I don’t know whether I’m relieved or not.

This…doesn’t make sense.

It’s too normal. It’s too domestic. He was supposed to kill me last night. The man cooking breakfast for my babies had a gun pressed against my back yesterday. Now he’s standing in my kitchen like he belongs, looking good as hell, fitting right in like he was meant to be here.

“Mommy!”

His head turns toward me at the sound of Rae’s greeting. Ignoring him, I hug my daughters, pulling my towel tighter around me.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice lower than it should be in the cold light of the morning. His eyes flicker over me, and just for a second, they linger.

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