“You promised,” he whispers. He lets go of me to run his hands through his hair. “You promised me, Elna. Your beginning, middle and end.” Jumping to his feet, he folds his hands behind his head and murmurs, “You promised. You can’t leave me. Baby, please.”

Unable to look him in the eyes, I bury my face into the pillow and continue shaking my head. I know the answer to his question now, I am so certain of it. Do I still want him? Yes, I will always want him, more than I have ever wanted anyone but I can’t have him.

Murder is murder and he killed his brother.

And it hurts.

It hurts every fibre of my being. I love him so much it hurts to think of a future without him. I don’t think I can stop loving him but when I look at him, all I see is a killer. If I cannot look past his sins then I shouldn’t be in his life. It will be our secret, it’s not in my place to tell other people and I am fine with that. I will keep my lips shut but I can’t stay.

Brandon is still on his feet when I raise my head, his face is ashen with hurt, confusion and maybe fear. The most vulnerable I have ever seen him and I hide my face behind my palms. I don’t want to have to do this. Why am I so nosy? If only I had kept quiet. If I had listened to him, rescinded the invitation to his parents. They didn’t deserve to be here.

Swallowing hard, I sit up. He won’t do it, I’ll have to do it for us. “With a joint custody, we can still see the twins. You get your girls,” I say, almost choking on a sob. I pictured a life with my husband and kids in one house. Teasing and loving each other more. Not this. Staring at my hands on my laps, I uncurl my fists and rub them on my knees. “You get your girls on some days, I’ll have them for the rest of the week. We don’t have to see each other.” Before my courage fails me, I add, “People do it all the time, we can do it.”

He scoffs. I hear the screeching sound of a chair as he drags it in front of me. Seconds roll by, I assume he has taken a seat by the closeness of his voice. “You want a divorce?”

“Yes,” I reply in a breathless whisper.

A tear leaks to my robe, creating a wet patch on the silky material and I fist my hands. His knees touch mine, I refuse to look up. If I do, if he so much as begs me to stay, I will but I don’t want to. He grabs my hands to pry them open and I see the cuts I made on my palms. A chill runs up my spine when he traces the mark, I sink my teeth into my lip.

“What if I don’t want a divorce?”

“You have to,” I reply, eyes fixated on my leg. “I promise not to tell anyone but I can’t stay. I need you to agree to a divorce.” My breath catches in my throat, I swipe at my nose and shake my head. “You will get to see your girls as much as you want, I promise. It doesn’t have to be messy, it will be over before you blink. Say yes. Do it for me, them.”

“Elna.”

“I’m scared of you.” My head raises slowly to meet his, I put up a mental block to resist him and the hurt dancing in his eyes. “There, I said it. I’m scared.” He takes my second hand in his, eyes roving over my body. A soft sigh leaves my lips when he strokes the inside of my wrist to my forearm. He has control over me. “Brandon, please. I’m scared.”

“We can see a therapist, a counsellor.”

He doesn’t get it, he never does. This is not one of those things that can be fixed by a therapy session. It will take more than that. Selective amnesia or something worse. I sigh, he tightens his grip on my arm and heat scorches my chest. He doesn’t want to let go but I am tired of holding on. All I ever did was held on and look where it brought us.

Holding his gaze captive, I memorise every feature on his face. His crooked nose, plump lips, thick brows, brown hair. The creasing of his forehead. Everything. “It won’t work.”

“Because you don’t want it to work.”

“Because you-“ I stop before the words are out of my lips, he drops my hands and raw pain fleets across his face. I never want to say those words out loud, never to his face.

Brandon jumps to his feet, his chair clatters to the ground and he groans when I flinch at the sound which reverberates in the room. His hair falls over his forehead and he swats them. Hovering over me with eyes shooting lasers, he mutters, “Say it. Call me what I am. I know you want to.” I close my eyes and shake my head, this won’t work. “Look at me, Elna. Have a little decency and say it to my fucking face. You know you want to.”

“I don’t want to, okay? I never asked for any of this,” I scream out. Feeling small under his stare, I stand and point a finger at his bare chest. “I am always the one giving, the one who has to make the sacrifices for the sake of our marriage and I am tired of doing that.”

Palming my head threatening to explode, I take deep breaths and lower my hands to my sides. “What will a therapist do? Erase your sins? Make you remorseful? Forgive you?”

My voice is small for fear of worsening my headache, I press my fingers to my temples. I hate arguing with him, even when he’s in the wrong, he has a way of making me feel like the bad guy without even trying. Brandon takes my hands, he laces our fingers and my heart jumps into overdrive. He would have drawn me closer but the bump prevents that from happening and I am grateful for the small distance. I am not immune to his charms, it is why I need him to be on board with me. He needs to agree to the divorce. I need it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. I try to yank free from his grip, he shakes his head and when horror crosses my face, he lets go. “Another chance, okay? I’ll make the sacrifices required but just stay.” His brows crease, a tear spills out of his eyes and a wave of guilt, hate crashes over me. “One more chance, please? Be my beginning, my middle and end.”

With his hands glued to his sides, shoulders slumped and eyes bright with unshed tears while eagerly awaiting my verdict, Brandon looks like a schoolboy. The sight brings a tiny smile to my lips, I wrap my arms around myself to stop from throwing myself at him. I will miss him. I will miss our banters. Our arguments. I will miss being his wife.

“This is not like other times.” I place a hand over my chest where it hurts the most and his eyes follow the movement, I can’t heal from this if we stay together and he needs to understand. “There is no coming back from this, Brandon. All I do is give, give so much of myself because that’s what love is all about but I can’t give you what you want now.”

His mouth parts, I shake my head to cut him off, I need to get everything out of my chest without interruption. It is my turn. “A therapist can’t fix this but a divorce might. If you feel even the tiniest bit of affection for me, you will let me go. Baby, please let me go.”

Seconds trickle into minutes, I watch him with bated breath. If he says no, I don’t know what my next move is. I am not sure what I will do if he agrees but we can’t live together anymore. He might not hurt me but I am not convinced. That conviction might take days, weeks or years to happen. All I see now is a man who set his brother up and killed him.

Brandon releases a shaky breath, fingers still lodged in his hair. This is hard. This is hard for both of us but if he refuses, I might grow to resent him. And when that happens, the residue love won’t be able to save him. It might affect our girls, they don’t deserve that.

“Okay,” he says and turns away from me.

I stare at Brandon’s stiff back long enough for my eyes to water, taking a step to close the distance, I wrap my hands around him from behind. A strange feeling unfurls inside my stomach, it’s not the relief I thought would flood me. It is something else, a fleet of conflicting emotions that has me feeling like I might have made a terrible mistake that I will regret when I look back at this moment in years to come. But I will take that chance.

Coating his skin with my tears, I hold him as best as my bump will allow but his back remains ramrod straight. This is it, I am doing the right thing but why does it hurt so much? I don’t want to let go but after a brief second of silence, I whisper, “Okay. Okay.”

Pa was wrong about one thing, I will not be fine. But yes, Brandon will always be my beginning, my middle and my end. He will always be mine even if we are miles apart.

THE END
(PS: I’ll be posting parts of book two: Mrs Reluctant Billionaire here. But the complete book is on Inkitt)