Page 63 of Once Upon A Second Chance
Two women from the PTA whisper behind the greeting card rack. An elderly man squints toward the commotion, blinking beneath fluorescent lights.
And in the middle of the chaos, standing at the prescription counter with red-rimmed eyes and smudged mascara like she’s been practicing this scene for days—
Rebecca.
“My therapist said keeping secrets like that only prolongs the trauma,” she sobs to no one in particular. “But how could I say anything when he was adoctor? Who would believe me? He was so careful about it. Socharmingin public...”
She doesn’t have to say my name.
Everyone’s already looking at me.
One of the pharmacists—Karen, I think—shoots me a wide-eyed glance over the counter, her hands frozen mid-scan over a bottle of Zyrtec.
The PTA moms look horrified.
Someone’s filming.
I want to speak. God, I want to say something.
But anything I say—anything—only fuels the fire. If I yell, I’m the angry ex. If I scoff, I’m dismissive. If I stay silent, it looks like guilt.
Rebecca doesn’t even glance at me.
She turns her back and leans dramatically on the counter, burying her face in her hands like the very air is too much to bear.
“I just didn’t know how toleave,” she cries, her voice cracking at all the right points. “Even now I’m scared...”
Bullshit.
You left me by text while I was in surgery and then filed court paperwork before I made it home.
You followed me across the country.
You camehere.
But logic means nothing in the face of a well-placed public breakdown. People don’t care about facts. They care about the story. The drama. The possibility.
And I’ve already got one strike against me from that malpractice suit.
I turn on my heel and walk out.
Because if I stay another second, I’ll give them exactly what they want.
I don’t go home right away. I drive.
Out past the edges of Mount Juliet. Past the lake. Past the turnoffs that lead to farms and tree lines and all the quiet places Penny likes when the world feels loud.
Eventually I pull over in a gravel lot behind an abandoned diner and sit in the truck with my head against the steering wheel.
I’ve been a lot of things in my life.
Arrogant. Ambitious. Cold. Stupid.
But never abusive.
And the idea that people might actually believe I was—that they might look at Penny and wonder what kind of man she’s with—it makes my hands shake harder than any surgery ever has.
Rebecca’s never going to stop.
