“I’ll take that as a yes,” Brandon murmurs.

Palming my belly, I nod. “Yep.”

Since I am too tired to walk to the movie room, I wait until Brandon’s return. He shows up soon, a bowl of popcorn in one hand and his laptop in the other. Beaming at me, he sets the popcorn down, drags me to sit in front of him while nestling his chin on my shoulder.

“What took you so long?” I ask, accepting the bowl of popcorn. I moan as a batch of the popped kernels disappears into my mouth, it has just the right amount of sugar and milk. Perfect.

His tongue makes a trail on my neck, my eyes droop. “I had to download the movie.”

Laughter bubbles in my throat, I twist my neck to get a view of his face but he ducks his head. Brandon is the only person I know who owns a laptop that has no movie, song, picture or streaming sites. If devices can be boring, then, his laptop wears the crown.

Darkness descends over our room, the first scene comes up. We stay this way, my back to his chest, our eyes glued to the screen while I feed him at long intervals. I shake my head when the woman is called to the stand, a disgruntled sound escaping me when she lies. She lied under an oath. For her murderer of a husband. Another sound escapes me when the jury rules in her husband’s favour, he walks out of the courtroom all smirks.

Someone molested his daughter. Someone whose trial was rescheduled. Dissatisfied by the judgment, the father of the child killed the molester in a moment of rage, covered his tracks poorly and lied under oath like his wife who provided him with an alibi. Liars.

To be honest, the molester deserved his death, the jury must have felt the same way too. Even the police who barely inspected the crime scene. They were relieved to see him gone, so was I but I can’t shake off the feeling that the father was wrong. He should have been more patient with the law. What if things had gone awry? His wife could have been jailed for perjury. His kids left to live with the stigma of having a murderer for a father.

I drum my fingers on Brandon’s thigh as the credit rolls in, a sinking feeling in the pit of my belly. Light floods our room, I hear a thud as Brandon drops the remote controlling the light system inside the drawer. I get off the bed to stretch, he appears in front of me.

“You don’t seem so happy,” Brandon says. I shrug, keeping my lips sealed. He brushes his lips against mine, I weave my fingers into his hair and smile. “Did you like the movie?”

The movie was cool until the end. “I don’t like that she lied.” Brandon edges backwards to glower at me, I raise a hand for him to let me explain my stance. “She lied under oath.”

He stretches one hand in my direction, lips puckered into an irritating frown. My bump does a good job of keeping us at a certain distance, I place a hand on my hips as a mighty wave of tiredness rolls over me. His frown deepens into a scowl, I have a dark feeling he will support the man and his wife. That thought scares and irks me. Murder is murder.

“If she hadn’t lied, her husband would have gone to prison,” he says through gritted teeth like he’s holding back the rest of his words and I nod. His eyes blaze with irritation and I shift my weight to one foot. “He would have been sentenced to life or death, Elna.”

“Rightfully so,” I chip in. Meeting his gaze, I clear my throat, wiping traces of annoyance from my voice. “You are not allowed to kill everyone who hurts you because you can.”

If he was irritated before, now he is furious. He runs his hand over his mouth as if trying to filter his reply, his condescending gaze sweeps over me and I find myself staggering backwards to increase the gap between us. I don’t like the direction of this conversation.

Whether he likes it or not, the man is a murderer and the law should take its course.

“Are you listening to yourself?” he screams at me and I flinch. Instead of apologising, he lowers his voice. “That bastard molested his child, his daughter,” he says while slapping the back of his hand over his palm like I am not getting his point. But I get it. “Jail would have been too good for that bastard, we saw how he was planning to bribe his way into a smaller sentence.” My eyes close, I let out a shaky breath, he’s hollering. “What is your problem? How can you not see that his wife did the right thing? Are you kidding me?”

When my eyes fly open, they are blazing with the same amount of rage swimming in his. I count to ten to kill my anger, he scoffs. Blinding fury spills over me and I lose control.

“Okay. The man is dead, now what?” I shout at him. My voice matches his, a high pitch sound I am unfamiliar with and he lifts a brow I am tempted to slap down. “Does it take away the pain he caused the girl? Or the trauma she has to live with?” I poke a finger into his chest. “You are the one who has a problem thinking it okay to commit murder.”

Silence rings out in the room after my explosion, I bring my quaking hands to my sides, inhale and exhale until my breathing is under control. He is stressing me and our baby. I need to remember the baby. We are having a futile argument over a fictional movie.

Anger simmers inside me, he thinks I have a problem because I didn’t support a killer.

“Murder?” he says in a voice I have to strain my ears to hear. My chest deflates, I make a mental decision to keep shut. This topic is sensitive for him. “Speaking hypothetically, if a paedophile molests Brianna, do you expect me to sit still and let the law do its thing?”

“Yes.” I should have remained quiet but I can’t stop talking now. “Maybe. I don’t know.” I throw my hands in the air and let out an audible sigh. “Brandon, the law is the law.”

“Even for our baby?” Emotions dash across his face, making it harder for me to identify his current mood. He points a finger to my stomach, I wrap my arms over my bump.

“The girl in your womb.” My eyes widen, bile rises to my throat and I am sickened by the sight of him. He admits she is a girl to make his point. I scoff. “Do I also sit back and let some judge slap a few years sentence on the paedophile’s wrist? Knowing he will be out soon as a free man while our baby bears the scar. You expect me to sit back, be calm?”

I shrug. Brandon’s expression falls and I can almost hear the sound of his heart breaking into a million pieces. What does he expect me to say? If the law will take its course, we should allow it. He is not being fair with his question and he knows it. I try to bridge the distance between us but he shakes his head and my heart thumps so hard against my rib cage, I wheeze. We should have gone to bed, I should have picked sleep over a movie.

“Wow,” he says, genuinely surprised at my choice. “I am disappointed in you.”

His sincerity prickles my skin, drives a blunt knife straight to my chest, I will the tears attempting to make an appearance to stay away. He is the one with the twisted logic, not me, I shouldn’t feel guilty. Squaring my shoulders, I stick my chin in the air and cross my arms.

“I’m disappointed in you more, Brandon. Two wrongs can never make a right.” Pressing a finger to my temple, I release a sigh. “I might have understood if your anger is about your birthday but a stupid movie with characters living their best lives out there while we argue?” I shake my head slowly. “On your birthday night? If you are still upset with me because I mentioned your birthday, say it. Don’t hide under hypothetical questions.”

The look he sends me has my confidence wavering and an apology threatens to spill from my lips. I wanted us to end today on a happy note. He had to ruin it with his stupid ideologies and need for revenge. Yes, that is all there is to say about the movie. Revenge.

He nods, says in a small voice, “Goodnight.”

Terror runs through me as his figure retreats to the door. He is leaving. He is leaving me. The thought takes form in my head, grows large enough to puncture a hole in my skull. His hand closes over the knob, my limbs quiver, anger soaks my skin and I detonate.

“Yeah, run from the problems like you always do. Don’t communicate, do it Brandon style. Incommunicado.” He opens the door, my ears ring at the creak and my heart shrinks. Tears coat my lashes, I scream, “Well, I hope Brianna doesn’t turn out like you.”

He slams the door behind him. So hard I jump back. A sob escapes me, I stare longingly at the door, hoping he returns to cuddle me. But nothing of such happens and my heart rips into two as the seconds painfully roll by without my husband’s reappearance.

Counting doesn’t work. Walking also fails. Sleep has fled from me. I retire to the bed, lying on my side while staring wide-eyed into the darkness with the cover tucked under my chin. We have had our quarrels but I never had to sleep alone when he is around.

Tears silently roll down my cheeks, I stiffen when the cover is lifted and a firm chest presses into my back. I maintain my frigidity when he spoons me, placing a hand on my hip. Soaking the pillow with my tears, I dig my nails into my palm to stop from sniffing. Brandon doesn’t need to know how much his actions hurt me, he is a terrible husband.

Thankful for the darkness hiding my face when his fingers brush my wet cheek, I freeze. “Wifey, stop crying. It’s not good for our baby.” He wipes my residue tears. “El, please.”

“You left me.”

Breathing heavily on my neck, Brandon leans over to place a kiss on my forehead. And I have to squeeze my eyes shut to rein my nerves. I can’t be bribed with a kiss. He left me.

“I’m sorry. I was on the brink of snapping so I had to leave,” he mutters against my neck. “I didn’t want to shout at you again, you don’t like it when I shout at you. I’m sorry, El.”

The silence between us stretches so thin I can almost see through it. He glues himself to me, I listen to his breathing, the sound of impatience and maybe remorse he makes at the back of his throat. He is here. He came back, that should count for something, right?

“You’re right, I don’t like it when you shout at me,” I say at last, letting out a heavy sigh. “If a man touches our baby, I will cut off his dick and feed it to him.” His hand slides to my belly. “I will find a way to boil him alive or I’ll convince the judge to sentence him to death by guillotine. I’ll probably lie under oath for you if you decide to kill him yourself.”

He chuckles, the belly massage stops and I bring his hand back to rest on my bump. He might be an asshole but his hand is not. It is a touch of heaven and relief. “Probably?”

Though he is teasing, a weight floats to my chest. At what point is murder okay? I wave the question away, already knowing what my answer will be. I cover his hand on my belly with mine, his lips connect with my neck and goosebumps scatter on my arms.

Focus, El. I am still mad at him. Well, I am trying to be mad at him but he makes it hard.

“I don’t want you thinking it is okay to hurt people instead of letting the law handle it,” I say. Images from the movie flash before me, a lone tear slips from my eye. The mother’s guilt never went away, knowing her child’s molester was dead didn’t lessen her guilt. It wasn’t her fault but it was easier to blame herself. “I’m thinking of the bigger picture.”

The picture his wife foresaw when she tried to discourage her husband from his revenge-driven plans. Thinking of it now, he might have done that to soothe his ego. His pride couldn’t handle the judge’s decision. I guess we’ll never know what it should have been.

“Of the stigma that will come with our baby growing up with the label of a murderer’s daughter,” I add. “The bullying. Whatever you do affects us, it’s no longer about you.”

Brandon inhales sharply, I run my fingers up his arm.

“That’s what happens when you marry and have kids, your wife and kids will suffer the consequences of your action. It is the picture I wanted you to look at. Us. How his actions might have affected his wife and kids if things had gone south. But I guess I didn’t convey my points well and I am sorry.”

If I could flip positions to enable me decipher his silence, I would have done it. But I can’t. So, I settle for counting the seconds until my patience runs thin. His hand slips from under mine, he is still spooning me but our body contact has reduced to a minimum.

I clear my throat when another harsh second of deathly stillness rolls by, the words I threw at him rush back to haunt me. “I’m sorry for bringing Brianna into our argument.”

“You shouldn’t have but you are not wrong,” he says, I nod, “and I’m working on it.”

He has. Brandon has been the best version of himself and I chose to ignore that fact when I blasted him. His tongue flicks over my ear, once, twice, a hand cups my breast, sliding the thin strap of my nightie over my shoulder. Swallowing my moans, I groan at the frustrated grunt that slips from him. I won’t surrender so easily to him. He spanks my ass, I giggle and he chuckles. He won. Just like that, we are happy couples again.

“Do you want to talk about her?” he whispers in a husky voice that tingles my skin, I let out a sigh, drawing circles on his arm. “You didn’t ask any questions. I mean, Brianna.”

The offer is sweet but my mind draws a blank. Seeing him break down erased my anger, I have never seen him that vulnerable. I want to be mad at him for keeping such a huge part of his life away from me. Maybe slap him as hard as Ma might have but I can’t.

How can I? He is doing a great job of being mad at himself already, it would be selfish of me to add to his burden. What I want instead is to lessen the burdens for him. To love him unconditionally and I hope to God, Brianna is the last straw. His biggest secret. Our fights can easily be resolved but no more secret daughters. I may not recover from that.

“I don’t have any questions,” I say. “And no, I am not mad at you. I won’t hold your past against you, you are already doing that to yourself.” He snickers, lowering his fingers to my crotch and I bite my lips. “You have me now, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Giving my hand a small squeeze, Brandon murmurs, “I have you now.” It sounds funny coming from him, unbelievable. A smile sprouts to my lips and I nod. “I have you now.”

“You do.”

When Brandon squeezes my hand again, it’s to show his appreciation. “I have her death certificate.” I gasp, he clutches my hand as if afraid I might pull away. And I might have. He can be so direct, it freaks me out sometimes. “It is not what you think, okay?” I nod, more to encourage him to keep talking but my head reels from the information dump.

“I was confused and scared. One second, I am an ambitious youth whose only priority is making CEO, the next moment, I am forced to become a father. A clueless one at that.” Since I can’t twist my body to kiss him, I nibble his fingers, let the tip of my tongue graze them. “The doctor was certain she would die, I believed him for a while. I fucking did.”

In a tiny voice, he adds, “I buried an empty casket. Does that make me a bad person?” I shake my head and use his hand to cup my breast. His chuckles, though forced, warms me, he runs two wet fingers between my breasts. “It worked. The threats stopped, no more daughter to dangle under my nose.” He scoffs. “It took a fucking burial for him to stop. I buried Sophie, came home with Brianna but I still feel awful. She was innocent.”

Thoughts explode in my head, threatening to choke me, I can’t get past the first name he mentioned. When I finally find the courage to talk, the first thing I say is, “Sophie? Who?”

“Sophie,” he says with a small laugh, placing a kiss on my shoulder. Goosebumps spread over my arm, I nudge him in his ribs. “Her mother named her that, I gave her Brianna.”

“It’s a nice name. What of her mother?”

He wastes no time in providing an answer. “Dead. She overdosed. I didn’t know about Bri until she was dead. Bri was a few weeks away from turning four. Sometimes, I think that’s why she won’t wake up. Maybe she is punishment for all my sins. I’m terrible.”

Telling him otherwise might have infuriated him so I take his hand and lace our fingers in silent support. I will let him believe what he wants for this moment. Tomorrow, I will resume my cheesy texts. It’s not his fault his daughter was in an accident that might have been orchestrated by one of the assholes who had a personal beef with him. But he doesn’t need to hear that now, he wants to feel like the bad guy. I will allow it for now.

“I never got to hear her call me dad,” he says in a tone that tells me I was never meant to hear this part and my heart clenches. “It’s the one thing I can never forgive myself for.”

“She will be fine,” I say, sounding confident enough to convince us. “I know it. Until then, you have to be strong for her. This time, you don’t have to do it alone, I’m here, baby.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for today. For the gifts too, can I see them?” I shake my head. “Tomorrow?” I nod and he nibbles my ear. Now, I’m horny. “Can I give you a gift, for being the best wife?” I want to remind him I don’t need gifts for that reason but he is already bunching my nightie above my waist. I like this. A finger runs between my ass, he rubs his dick against my butt and a thrill runs down my spine. “Do you want my gift?”

I nod. I want this gift. Now.