The Young Widows by S. J. Short

Author:S. J. Short [Short, S. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-01-04T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Adriana

I want to know who Grant was talking to, but he keeps his phone under close guard, always tucking it away in a pocket inside his jacket or in his pants. I’ve tried calling the phone company, only to find out that my name isn’t listed on the account and so they won’t tell me a thing. Even his iPad is locked with a passcode I don’t know.

I’ve never taken much notice of that before. Is that normal for two people about to get married to not share their passwords? Do people usually do that when they’re in long-term relationships or am I looking for red flags where there are none? Well, other than the anonymous email and late-night phone call and the fact that my husband seems to know more about my relationship with my first husband than I previously thought.

Those definitely feel like red flags.

It’s Wednesday morning and Grant is off at a golf tournament with some clients and other industry people. Thankfully he was out of the house early because there was no way I would have been able to hide the morning sickness today. It battered me about, leaving me shaking and weak on the bathroom floor. I’ve called in sick. Again.

Grant isn’t the only one I need to tell about this pregnancy. My boss is starting to get suspicious.

Now I find myself standing at the bottom of the staircase, staring into his office. The house feels vast and quiet, and outside I hear the caw of cockatoos and the warble of magpies and the buzz of someone cutting their grass. The hum of real life.

I was supposed to be heading to a makeup trial for the wedding this evening, but I’ve called the makeup artist and feigned a stomach bug so she would let me reschedule. The best lies have a little truth in them, or so Mum used to say.

I can’t even stand to think about the wedding right now. I need to know what Grant is hiding from me and I need to know before I marry him. My father kept secrets from my mother and me for years – things that came out into the light like insects scattering when the rock is lifted, things we learned when he was handcuffed and escorted out of our house, while my mother watched on, crying. Useless. The neighbours watched too, snickering behind their hands, curtains parted and mobile phones pressed to ears as they spread the word beyond our street. They took pleasure in witnessing my family fall apart, gobbling up our misery like cake.

I always knew there was something off about him, they said, even after they’d come to our parties and eaten our food.

You can’t trust new money, they said, even after they’d taken his advice for their stock portfolios and property investments.

I would have known what was going on if it were me, they’d said, as they scorned my mother and ejected her from their social groups.

I can’t let myself be put in that position.

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