house with Camden is no different than when I left. When I first got back, he asked about my trip, but he didn’t even listen to my lie about how busy it was visiting my parents.
Now, he moves about just as he always did, but he occasionally pauses to run his fingers along my back and gaze at me with those piercing blue eyes.
Whenever he’s out of the house, I sort through my things. Today, I stumble across the Citizen watch I bought for him—the gift that may have started all of this. I slip it on my wrist, then tuck essentials into my luggage, because I’m not exactly sure what comes next and whether I’ll need to leave.
This part is hard. I loved—love—him so much.
It’s incredible to be so enamored with someone—to long for them—and yet, know that they’re taking advantage of you. I’ll never know how much, or how little, he loves me. I may never know if he ever loved me at all.
It doesn’t matter. Not really. None of it does. I can’t erase the lies. They’re too large—too many. They weren’t ever to protect me.
His lies are to protect him.
And yet, a familiar ache—a longing to be near him is still etched onto every fiber of my being.
Tomorrow, I’ll give myself a trigger injection. The ultrasound showed follicles that are nearly ready. All I need to do is force ovulation with the synthetic hCG hormone. Tomorrow, at 9 p.m., I’ll insert the final needle into my hip. Monday morning, my eggs will be retrieved and will be inoculated with donor sperm.
That’s tomorrow.
Tonight, I pour a glass of wine to soothe my nerves and relieve the hormonal mood swings. I’ve made dinner, and I’ve begged Camden to sit with me to eat, and he’s agreed.
Tonight, I’ll love my husband. As he was. Because come Monday, all bets are off.
“How’s work?” I ask nervously across our large farmhouse table.
The food on my plate appears touched by my incessant pushing and twirling, but I’ve only taken a few tiny bites.
He shrugs and takes a swig of his beer, then rambles about his job that doesn’t exist.
Tonight, I pretend everything that he says is the truth because more than anything, I wish it were.
“You’ve been so busy lately. I miss you,” I say.
My stomach clenches as the last words echo in my mind. I do miss him.
His bright blue eyes reflect the desire that I have for him.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
The words stick to me, allowing me a moment to believe that he does love me.
I sip slowly from the crystal wine glass, letting the remainder of the red trickle over my tongue. The taste of berries and spices plays with my senses.
When it’s gone, I stand and walk around the table, keeping eye contact with Camden, and slide onto his lap. I push my sweater up my arm, unclasp the watch that was hiding under it, then place it on Camden’s wrist.
“What’s this for?” he asks, a smile tugging at his lips.
“It’s a gift—a thank you, for all the time you’ve given me,” I whisper into his ear.
He nuzzles his lips into the curve of my neck, and a tingling erupts in my belly, spreading through my abdomen and stopping between my legs. I slide my fingers along the waist of his jeans, letting my touch skim lightly along his skin. His breath changes, more controlled, shallow.
He takes my hand, pulling it gently until I stand. He gets up, runs his thumb across my cheek, then leads me to our suite and eases me onto our bed.
It’s dark here. He won’t be able to see the bruises from my injections, or the extra cellulite around my hips, but the darkness isn’t only a blessing for hiding my secrets. In the dark, every touch, every kiss, will feel more like a promise and less like the reality it is.
Tonight, we are together as we used to be.