by HC Michaels
The Woman Who Didn’t
HC Michaels
Copyright © 2021 by HC Michaels
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For my sister, Ingrid.
I’m sorry for writing that letter to the newspaper when we were kids and signing it with your name.
Above The Surface
Detective Hooke was missing something. Thirty years in the job had taught him that his intuition was far more valuable than his case notes.
He flicked through the photos of the crime scene, despite having already burned every detail in his mind. He was sure he’d overlooked something.
The house was in one of Melbourne’s wealthiest suburbs, making it an interesting place for a murder. The dead body lying on those highly polished tiles seemed out of place, like it was messing up the décor somehow.
The boys at the station had taken to calling it the White House, an appropriate name given it looked like someone had gone through the house with a bottle of bleach. It had white furniture, white rugs, white curtains, white walls and white roses in white vases. The splatter of bloodstained vomit looked almost artistic, pooling at the feet of a large marble statue of a goddess.
What a shame for such perfect lives to take such an imperfect turn. Two people who were the envy of all and now one of them was dead and the other facing a life locked behind bars.
The detective didn’t know why he was so surprised. Nothing was ever as it seemed. That’s why he often thought of life as a pond. No matter how much it shimmered on the surface, you can never know what secrets lurk beneath its murky depths.
His problem was that the surface of this case was proving difficult to break.
50 Days Before The Break
Skye spent the afternoon in front of the mirror rehearsing how to deliver the news to her husband.
“Theo, we need to talk. Theo, something terrible has happened. Theo, I don’t know how to say this...”
Each approach started with his name and ended with her tears. There was no way to tell him without getting upset. She’d just have to come straight out with it.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to tell him.
“I’m worried about you,” he said, dumping his keys on the solid marble kitchen counter and draping his suit jacket over the back of a chair.
Skye bit back her annoyance. A jacket worth as much as some people’s cars shouldn’t be draped. It should be hung, preferably on a padded hanger.
“Why would you be worried about me?” She slid his dinner across to him, wincing as a jet of steam nipped at her thumb.
“Let it cool a bit.” He pushed the plate aside and perched on a stool, the white leather of the seat squeaking as it took his weight.
She sighed. It’d taken her ages to plan this week’s dinner menu, ensuring they got enough protein and vegetables without the sugar or fat. Not to mention all the time Linda spent cooking it.
“Tell me what’s happening with you?” Theo reached across the counter for her hand.
Skye’s pulse rate rose. Not now! She wasn’t supposed to tell him like this. She wanted to wait until they were in bed with their laptops perched on their knees. He’d be wearing his Louis Vuitton reading glasses and he’d tip them down to the end of his nose when she said there was something they needed to talk about. She could imagine it so clearly.
“I’m fine. Really, I am.” She took a picture of him with her mind. This was the face of a man who thought his wife was a healthy thirty-year-old woman. She’d never see this face again.
“You’re not fine. Tell me, babe.” He blinked as he waited for her to find her words.
She drew in a deep breath. “Really, I don’t want you to worry about—”
“You have cancer, don’t you?” Theo asked, the patience sliding from his voice.
“But how… how did you know?” Tears stung Skye’s eyes. This was the downside of being married to a criminal lawyer. It was such an effort to get anything past him.
“So, it’s true then?” he asked.
She nodded and Theo’s handsome face filled with lines. For the first time since they’d been married, he looked his almost fifty years. He’d never looked his age. This was one of the reasons she’d been so madly attracted to such an older man. It gave him a certain virility, a power most other men could only dream of. If he could hold back time, then surely, he could do anything. He was like Kronos, the Greek god of time.
This was the name she called him in their most intimate moments as she raked her fingers through his dark locks, her body convulsing with pleasure, his black eyes smiling at her with adoration.
His eyes were always smiling at her.
Until now.
“Is it your ovaries?” he asked.
“Yes.” She walked to his side of the counter and wrapped her arms around him.
“How bad is it?” He pulled her close and she caught the familiar scent of his aftershave. She inhaled, enjoying the manly smell of him, glad tonight wasn’t one of the nights he went to the gym.
“How did you know?” she asked, stalling for time before she had to tell him how bad it really was.
“You fell asleep in bed last night with your laptop on. When I shut it down, I saw you were researching ovarian cancer.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “At first I thought it was for your work…”
“You should’ve woken me if you were worried.” She loosened the embrace so she could look at him.
“You seemed so peaceful,” he said. “Besides, I didn’t think anything of it until I got an email today about an anomaly on our credit card. When I checked, there was an invoice for an ultrasound. For a minute I thought maybe you were pregnant, but I know you’d never keep that from me. It had to be something you didn’t want to tell me.”
“Do you ever take time off from cracking cases?” She felt him tense. He normally liked it when she ribbed him about his dedication to his job.
“This wasn’t a case I should’ve had to crack.” Anger slipped into his voice to mingle with his concern. “You’re my wife. You should’ve told me.”
“Don’t you normally use private investigators for that kind of thing?” She smiled to take the sting out of her words.
It didn’t.
His body tensed even further, and he took a step away.
She’d never been happy about the way he tracked her down when they first met. He’d seen her being interviewed on a morning talk show and claimed to have nearly choked on his muesli. Unable to get her out of his head, he asked his private investigator to find out more about her.
She was surprised she’d made this kind of impact on him. She had the same long blonde hair, blue eyes, milky complexion and size six figure as any of the television presenters and Theo hadn’t seemed to have had a problem with his muesli before.
“I did tell you.” She reached for him and ran her manicured fingertips down his chest, trying to coax the tension from him. “I’m telling you now. We’re talking, aren’t we?”
“What did the doctor say?” he asked, relenting just a little underneath her touch. “Tell me exactly what he said.”
“Oh Theo, I can’t tell you.” Skye took in a deep breath, feeling the beginnings of tears pricking the back of her eyes.
“Skye, tell me.” He was frustrated, his normally calm voice cracking under the strain of his emotions. She knew there were prosecutors all over the city who’d tried unsuccessfully to break him like this in a courtroom, and she’d managed to do it with only a handful of words.<
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“They’re going to take my ovaries.” She dissolved into tears, burying her face in his firm chest. “We won’t be able to have children.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, running his hands down her back, his fingers catching in her hair. “It doesn’t matter.”
She knew that wasn’t true. It did matter. It mattered a lot.
He’d been begging her to give him a child since they first met, a son to be more accurate. She sometimes wondered if that was what first attracted him to her—her young, pink ovaries filled with possibilities for the future. Would he still love her without them?
“We have Amber,” he said, referring to his sixteen-year-old daughter from his first marriage. A daughter who made it very clear she didn’t belong to Skye.
“Someone say my name?” Amber walked into the kitchen and opened a cupboard, reaching for an apple. “Why can’t we have a fruit bowl on the counter like normal people? Oh, that’s right. Apples aren’t white.”
“Amber, we just need a moment here, please,” said Theo.
Amber looked across, her eyes widening like she was seeing them for the first time. “Why are you both crying? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Skye pulled back from Theo and shook her head, trying to let him know to stay quiet. What could they possibly say to Amber? It wasn’t like she’d care.
“Umm, it doesn’t look like nothing.” Amber stood frozen with the apple halfway to her mouth, waiting for an answer.
“She has to know, babe,” said Theo.
“I have to know what?” Amber started to sound panicked. “Is Mum okay? Has something happened to her?”
“It’s not your m-mother.” Theo rubbed at his strong jawline. “It’s—”
“It’s me,” interrupted Skye. She’d rather choose the words than have Theo do it for her. “I have cancer.”
The panic on Amber’s face worsened. She ran her hands through her dark curls, causing them to stand up even more than usual, as if they too were upset by the news. “Cancer? Oh my god.”
“It’s in her ovaries,” said Theo. “But she’s going to be okay.”
“She can get her ovaries cut out, can’t she?” Amber asked, directing her question at her father.
“Yes, Amber,” said Skye, reminding her she was standing right there. “But I’ll still need to have chemo to make sure they’ve got it all.”
“Chemo! You mean you’re going to lose your hair?” She ran to Skye and threw her arms around her waist, hugging her tightly.
“There are worse things than losing your hair.” Skye patted her on the back with stiff, awkward movements as she tried to come to terms with this unexpected burst of affection.
“This is terrible,” moaned Amber.
Skye turned her face as Amber’s hair tickled her cheek. Amber looked so much like her Mauritian-born mother, especially with the weight she’d been putting on lately. She wished Theo would say something to her about it. Skye would be crucified if she dared mention anything.
“Amber, darling.” Theo came over and placed his hands on his daughter’s shoulders. “It’s lovely you care so much, but I really need to talk to Skye about this if you don’t mind?”
Amber untangled her arms from Skye’s waist and stepped back, wiping mascara-stained tears across her cheeks until they blended in with the layers of her cheap foundation.
“I’m really sorry, Skye,” she said.
Skye nodded. “It’s okay, Amber. Thank you. I’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
She watched her stepdaughter head out of the kitchen.
“Don’t put it on Facebook!” Theo called after her.
“I’m not stupid!” she called back. “Besides, Facebook’s for old people!”
Theo rolled his eyes and turned to Skye, pulling her into his arms once more.
“I’m scared,” she said.
“Me too, babe.” He pressed his cheek to the top of her head, and she wondered how that would feel when she had no hair.
They stood there in silence and Skye drank in the comfort he offered her, wishing she’d told him earlier.
“Skye.” Theo cupped her face in his hands so he could look her in the eyes. “I love you. With your ovaries or without them. This doesn’t change anything between us. I’ll always love you. You don’t need to have my babies. It doesn’t matter.”
Guilt wound its way through her core. Saying something didn’t matter, didn’t make it true.
This house would never know the sound of a toddler’s footsteps echoing down the hallway. Her belly would never stretch to accommodate Theo’s child. She would never know what it was like to push a tiny human from her body and hear its first cry.
There were so many things she’d never know and never do.
Amber flopped down on her bed with her phone held up in front of her face. She’d sent a message to her group chat when she heard raised voices.
Amber Manis
Drama in the kitchen! Going to investigate...
There were seven missed messages in the five minutes she’d been gone. Now that she knew what the drama was really about, she dreaded reading the replies. She considered deleting her original message, but there was no point. Everyone would have already seen it. Better not to write more, though. If her dad found out, he’d kill her. She never would’ve said anything if she’d known it was going to be a something actually serious! She’d thought maybe Skye wanted to paint the grass white.
Cait Spremic
Oh, I love a basic drama! Let us know what happens x
Tara Hearts
Hope ur ok Ambey Pambey
Chai Lyn
U can’t just say that! What’s happening???
Kelsey Bey
What’s going on? Update please!
Alyssa Eve
Call me!!! x
Amelia More
Call me too x
Tilda East
Call me first!! ;)
Amber wiped away her tears as she decided what to say.
Amber Manis
Hard to explain on chat. I’ll talk to you at school tomorrow x
She shoved her phone under her pillow before the temptation got too great, knowing her friends wouldn’t be satisfied with that response.
Sure enough, her phone started buzzing with so many messages her pillow looked like it had a vibrate function. People did love a drama, especially when it involved a high-profile couple like her father and Skye. She wondered if they’d all be so interested if she had normal parents. She was certain if she messaged about her mother, the only response she’d get would be crickets chirping outside her window.
Anyway, she should be thinking about Skye’s cancer right now, not her friends and whether or not their interest in her was genuine.
The situation was all a bit heavy. She’d never been close to Skye, but she couldn’t wish cancer on someone. If it happened to her, then it could happen to anyone. Skye wasn’t even that old. She was skinny, too, and fit. She did so much yoga she could practically bend herself inside out. And she didn’t even drink, unless you count those tall glasses of green slime she downed each morning. She was a walking advertisement for healthy living.
It freaked Amber out. If Skye got cancer, then anyone could. What if her dad got it? Or her mum? Or even herself? Kids got cancer sometimes.
She started to cry again, grabbing for her phone and reading the growing stream of messages through her tears.
The girls really wanted to know what was going on. It wasn’t fair to leave them out. Besides, this affected her, too, and she needed support just as much as Skye. Well, maybe not just as much, but still, she needed people to help her through this and how could they if she didn’t tell them what was going on?
Her thumb got busy and she started to type.
49 Days Before The Break
Skye reached for her mother’s hand and held it gently.
“It’s me, Mum. It’s Skye.”
Her mother eyed her suspiciously, a look
of mild panic flickering across her face as she tried to drudge up her memories.
Skye had grown used to that expression. It was the image she now associated with her mother’s once beautifully composed face.
“I have a daughter named Skye.” Her mother nodded proudly at having retrieved the memory.
Skye let out a slow breath. “That’s me, Mum. I’m your daughter. I’m Skye.”
She’d spent her entire life begging her mother for attention. Look at me, became the catchphrase of her childhood. It didn’t matter what she was doing, she was always asking her mother to notice her. Nothing had changed in adulthood. She was still crying out to be seen.
“You’re not my daughter.” Her mother shook her head and pointed to a photo on her bedside table. “That’s my daughter.”
It was a photo taken on Skye’s wedding day. Not her wedding to Theo, but when she’d married Dean. At her first wedding, she’d been the full bridezilla with a veil that trailed to the ground and a dress with a bodice sewn with so many imitation pearls she could barely stand up.
She’d looked quite different at her second wedding. She went without a veil, not wanting anything to distract from her gown, designed especially for her by Alex Perry. There were no imitation pearls on that masterpiece—or imitation anything. It was classic elegance with sweeping lengths of silk chiffon that clung to her body in all the right places.
Yet her mother’s favourite photo was of her wearing her cheap beaded dress because that was the wedding she’d been at. By the time Skye had married Theo, her mother’s dementia was so far gone it was impossible for her to attend.
“That’s me, Mum.” She held the photo next to her face. “See, I’m Skye.”
“Don’t touch my photo.” Her mother snatched it from her and clutched it to her chest.
Skye noticed her nightgown wasn’t buttoned up correctly but wouldn’t dare try to fix it. The last time she’d tried to do that, her mother had slapped her hand away with surprising strength. In her prime, she’d been a principal dancer with the Australian Ballet, her grace and beauty enough to reduce an audience to tears. It was hard to reconcile that woman with the one in front of her now.
