The scene I had witnessed earlier haunted me. The words I’d overheard—each one soaked in betrayal—did more than hurt. They wrecked me completely.
In that instant, I would have chosen death over this unbearable reality.
My hands were still unsteady as I lowered the glass and approached the table. My eyes momentarily locked on the knife. A sharp, dark thought crossed my mind—I could stab him, force him to feel just a fraction of the torment he and Charlene had caused me.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I picked up the fork, cutting into the beef with trembling hands as hot tears finally escaped, sliding down my face without restraint.
Phyllis noticed immediately. “Louise, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
He reached out, his warm hands resting gently on my shoulders, lifting my chin until our eyes met. “Did something happen? What’s going on?”
His tenderness, his concern—it made me want to scream until I lost my voice. He brushed away my tears with such care, and it tore me apart inside. I wanted to believe this was a nightmare. A cruel illusion conjured from my years of pain and loneliness.
But this was real.
I had always loved Phyllis. Loved him so deeply, it hurt to even breathe near him.
“I love you,” I said quietly, voice trembling, thick with agony.
He smiled, gentle and affectionate. “That’s all you wanted to tell me? You scared me,” he said with a soft laugh of relief before kissing my forehead, then the tip of my nose. His lips lingered, hovering just over mine, closing the distance—
I moved away.
The image of him kissing my brother’s wife flashed through my mind, turning my stomach.
“I’m just hungry,” I said quickly, lying through my teeth as I forced a bite of food into my mouth. My hands still wouldn’t stop trembling. Prison had broken parts of me I didn’t even know could crack. But throughout all those years, what kept me holding on was the hope that Phyllis cared—that he was still waiting, that the truth would somehow save me.
Now, I wished the darkness of prison had swallowed me whole.
Earlier, I had hidden nearby, listening in horror to their conversation.
“Louise’s in the house. We can’t let her know about us,” Phyllis had whispered to Charlene, brushing her cheek with a familiarity that stabbed me in the gut.
Charlene leaned into him like she belonged there. Like she had always belonged there.