Page 37 of Velvet Corruption

By the time Ariel gave up her voice, Rosie was fast asleep, her head resting on my shoulder.

I didn’t move at first. Just sat there, breathing her in — the faint scent of shampoo, the little flutter of her breath against my arm. Her face was soft in sleep, cheeks still flushed from the fever, one hand curled up near her chin.

Julian would say I wasn’t doing enough. That she needed structure. Consistency. But right now, she had me. And I wasn’t going anywhere.

Well…except to the bathroom.

I eased out from under her as gently as I could, careful not to wake her, then tucked a blanket around her before walking down the hallway toward the downstairs bathroom. It was tucked in the back of the house, a little box of a room with a narrow window that didn’t open and barely let in any light. It was always dark in there.

I flipped the switch. Nothing.

Of course. Julian’s beloved halogen bulbs were acting up again.

We’d redone the house two years ago, and the wiring had never worked right — all aesthetic, no function. Just like him.

I sighed and stepped inside, letting my eyes adjust to the thin strip of hallway light behind me. My hand went to my pocket, instinctively searching for my phone.

Not there. Still on the couch.

Perfect.

I paused in the doorway, squinting into the gloom. I could just pee in the darkness, I supposed, but my kid was afraid of the dark…and if Julian came home and found the lightbulb out, it would just be one more excuse to say I wasn’t engaged enough, that I was too busy to take care of things. I needed to do this; the lightbulbs were under the sink, and it would be easy enough.

“How many district attorneys does it take to change a lightbulb?” I muttered to no one.

I was capable.

I could change a damn lightbulb.

I crouched and opened the cabinet under the sink, rummaging past old cleaning supplies until I found the spare bulb box. One left.

Figures.

I unwrapped it carefully, then stood on tiptoes, squinting up at the fixture above the mirror. The hallway light barely reached, but I could see my target. I squared my shoulders and reached up to unscrew it…

…and itbroke.

It fucking broke.

Sometimes, life decided to beat you over the head with metaphors.

The house I’d shared with Julian was literally falling apart thanks to his obsession with keeping up appearances.

Wonderful.

I took a closer look, knowing I should grab my flashlight but not wanting to wake Rosie. I could do this; I was so, so competent, and I could see that the old bulb had broken off at the base. Just the metal threading remained, jagged and wedged deep in the socket.

“Of course,” I muttered. “Why would this be easy?”

I knew better.I knew better.This was how people ended up in urgent care with tetanus shots and glass in their palms. But I didn’t want to leave it for later. I didn’t want to leave it for Julian to find.

Because if he did, it would be another checkbox. Another reason I wasn’t attentive enough, domestic enough, motherly enough.

So I reached up, gripping the base with my fingers, and twisted.

It bit into my skin immediately, but not enough to cut—so I held on, twisting with slow, stubborn pressure.

Pain flared. I hissed through my teeth.

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