Emilia’s POV.
His absence was meant to bring me peace, to provide some sort of relief, but here I was constantly checking out his door, watching over the front lawn, expecting to see him with a cigar in hand and a hand in his pocket. Acting normally was no longer in my line of thought.
I found myself going downstairs more than usual; I would stand by his door upon every return, space out, and soon realize myself with my hand upon his doorknob.
Whatever was happening to me didn’t sound normal, but then what was normal in my situation? Married to a man I should call father-in-law, and now in some nasty way I loved his silent possession, the way his hands wrapped around my waist and pulled me into him, and the manner in which he didn’t object to my choice of clothes but would rather become
