CHAPTER 4:The Morning After
1178 Words
I woke up on the studio floor at 6:00 AM with a crick in my neck and a text from my husband.
*Coffee's ready when you are.*
Like it was just another Wednesday. Like our entire marriage hadn't exploded last night. Like I hadn't spent hours locked in my studio, alternating between tears and rage, googling "bigamy laws New York" and "how to know if your husband is a sociopath."
The quiz results were inconclusive on the sociopath front. Very conclusive on the bigamy being a felony.
I looked at myself in the studio mirror. Face puffy from crying. Eyes red and swollen. Still wearing yesterday's clothes.
I needed to shower. Needed armor.
The master bedroom was empty. The bed pristine. Like Flynn had never slept there at all.
Or like he'd made it perfectly.
I went into the bathroom. His toiletries were lined up exactly as always. His towel hung straight. No sign of distress. No sign of a disrupted night.
How did he do that?
I turned on the shower. Let the water get scalding hot.
Stood under it and tried to wash off yesterday.
Realized I couldn't.
You can't wash off truth.
I looked at my things. The expensive shampoo Flynn had ordered. The body wash he preferred. The face cream that cost more than I used to spend on groceries.
When had I stopped choosing my own things?
I got out. Dried off. Stared at my closet.
Everything expensive. Tasteful. Not my real style.
I pulled out a simple black dress. Found my grandmother's locket in the jewelry box. The one thing I owned that predated Flynn.
Put on minimal makeup. Enough to cover the worst of the crying. Not enough to look like I was trying.
I needed to look professional. Strong.
Not soft.
I walked into the kitchen and stopped.
Flynn sat at the table like it was a magazine shoot. Newspaper spread out. Coffee in a proper mug. Pastries arranged on a plate.
"Successful Couple's Morning."
His smile was warm. Like nothing had happened.
"Good morning, darling. I got your favorite croissants."
The bakery was twenty blocks away.
When had he gone? He'd left the bedroom, showered, dressed, went out, came back. All before 6:00 AM?
Or had he not slept at all?
"Thank you." I kept my voice neutral.
I sat across from him. Not beside him.
Territorial choice.
His eyes narrowed slightly. He noticed.
He poured my coffee exactly how I liked it. Cream and two sugars. He'd done this a thousand times.
I watched his hands.
These hands had touched Sienna. Maybe three months ago in Chicago.
My stomach turned.
"How did you sleep?" he asked.
"Fine."
"I was worried about you. Locked in there."
I said nothing.
"We should talk about yesterday."
His voice was carefully casual. Like we were discussing the weather.
I took a sip of coffee. Still said nothing.
"Aria, you can't give me the silent treatment forever."
"I'm not. I said thank you."
First verbal pushback of the morning.
Flynn set down his newspaper. The gesture signaled serious conversation time.
"I've been thinking about the Sienna situation."
Situation.
Like it was a work problem. A minor inconvenience.
"I'm going to hire a lawyer immediately. Establish that the marriage was defunct. File for retroactive divorce. Make this all go away."
Make this all go away.
Like it was that simple.
"Then we'll remarry. Properly this time. We can have a bigger ceremony. Your dream wedding."
Future faking. I recognized it now.
"What about the baby?" I asked.
"If it's even mine, we'll do a paternity test."
"And if it is?"
"Child support. Through lawyers. No contact necessary."
"You wouldn't want to be involved?"
Flynn's expression didn't change. "With Sienna's child? No."
The way he said it. Cold. Dismissive.
That child was Sienna's problem. Not his responsibility emotionally. Just a financial obligation to eliminate.
He didn't care. Not about Sienna. Not about a potential child.
Only about maintaining his image. And keeping me.
His phone rang.
He glanced at the screen. "Office. I need to go in. Crisis with the Singapore deal."
Relief flooded through me. He'd leave.
"Will you be okay? I can cancel."
"I'm fine. Go."
I needed him gone. Needed space to think.
He stood. Walked over. Leaned down to kiss me.
I turned my head. He got my cheek.
His hand caught my chin. Forced me to look at him.
"I love you. Nothing changes that."
I didn't respond.
"When I get back tonight, we'll have dinner. Talk properly. Fix this."
Fix this.
Like it was a broken vase. Not broken trust.
He grabbed his briefcase and left.
I stayed at the table. Counting in my head.
One. Two. Three.
Got to one hundred before I moved.
Making sure he was really gone.
Then I exhaled. First real breath all morning.
Alone.
I could think now. Could feel.
The door opened.
I jumped.
But it was just Mrs. Chen. The housekeeper. She came three times a week.
She was maybe fifty-six. Efficient. Kind. Observant.
She'd worked here for eight years. Been here before me.
Would probably be here after.
She looked at me. Really looked.
"Mrs. Lancaster, are you feeling alright?"
I almost laughed. "Mrs. Lancaster. Am I though?"
Her face went carefully blank. "I don't understand."
"Neither do I anymore."
She started tidying the kitchen. Saw Sienna's business card on the counter where I'd left it.
Picked it up. Studied it.
Something crossed her face. Recognition? Knowledge?
"Mrs. Chen." My voice was quiet. "Did you know Flynn was married before?"
Long pause.
"It was not my place to say."
She knew.
She'd known and said nothing.
How many other people knew?
Mrs. Chen set the card back on the counter. Precisely where I'd left it. Met my eyes with something like sympathy.
"I've worked in many homes, Mrs. Lancaster. I've learned that the truth has a way of emerging. No matter how deeply it's buried."
"Did you know she was still alive? Still married to him?"
Another pause. Longer this time.
"I knew he was a man with secrets. I didn't know which ones would matter."
She moved toward the living room with her cleaning supplies.
Then stopped.
"The breakfast croissants. He had them delivered at 5:00 AM. I heard the doorbell when I arrived. He wasn't out getting them himself."
My hands went still on my coffee mug.
"He was here all night. On the phone. In his office. The door was closed, but I heard him speaking Italian."
Italian.
Flynn doesn't speak Italian.
At least, not that I knew of.
"You're sure it was Italian?"
"My mother was Italian." Mrs. Chen's voice was soft. "I know the language when I hear it."
She left the room.
I sat there. Staring at Sienna's card.
Flynn speaking Italian. A language I didn't know he knew.
On the phone at 5:00 AM. While I slept on the studio floor.
Talking to who?
About what?
What else didn't I know?
I picked up my phone and Sienna's card.
Time to find out.
- Writer
