My Husband's Secret

by Kiersten Modglin

  I picked up the glass of water, noticing, just as he’d said, how weak I felt. The glass shook in my hand as I lifted the room temperature water to my lips. I took a sip before picking up my phone.

  A whole day had passed, I realized, my head pounding. How was that possible?

  I checked Facebook and Instagram, replying to a few emails about my paintings, then closed my eyes. I had a headache, and the scrolling of my phone wasn’t helping. Something just didn’t feel right.

  I went to my recent calls. As much as I didn’t want to be around Lucas at that moment, he was a doctor. He was the only person I could trust to take care of me.

  The phone rang five times and, just when I was sure it was going to go to his voicemail, I heard him come on the line, his voice low.

  “Hello?”

  “Lucas? Where are you?”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice higher than usual.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I just…I don’t feel well.”

  “Your anxiety caused a panic attack early yesterday morning, do you remember? I gave you a mild sedative to calm you down—”

  “A mild—”

  “It won’t hurt the baby, don’t worry. It’s not much stronger than acetaminophen. Just enough to knock the edge off and help you sleep.”

  “Can you come take care of me? I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I’ll come over in a few hours, okay? I have a few things to take care of first.”

  I sighed, my stomach growling. “I’m hungry.”

  “I’ll pick you up some food. You should really just be resting.”

  “I have a headache,” I whined.

  “It’s normal. I came by this morning to check on you, but you were still out of it. There’s a Tylenol in your drawer just in case it gets worse. Take it if you need to. You’re probably thirsty. Don’t let yourself get dehydrated… Did you drink the water I left you?”

  I eyed the water, my body chilling at something in his tone. “Yes,” I lied.

  “Good. Just rest then, okay? Everything’s going to be okay.” There was relief in his words that had my heart pounding.

  I stood from the bed, forcing myself to move through the weakness. I walked to the bathroom, lifting the glass up to the light and staring at the fizz at the bottom of my glass. He’d dissolved something in my drink. I knew it in an instant. “I have to go…” I whispered, all power lost from my voice.

  “Are you—”

  I tossed the phone to the floor, dumping the water down the drain and falling to the floor, finger down my throat until I felt the vomit begin to rise. I emptied my stomach until there was nothing left in me.

  Then, I passed out.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Naomi

  When the front door slammed open on the evening before my husband’s death, I knew his mood immediately. Not by the quick slam, which was usual no matter his mood, but by the heavy footsteps that followed it. He headed my way instinctually, as if we were pulled together by magnets.

  Brent looked up at me from across the table, wiping a napkin across his face to wipe away the beef au jus from the corner of his lips. He scooped up Becca without a word, seeming to know what was going to happen.

  Lucas entered the kitchen, taking in the scene. Becca in Brent’s arms, Brent standing from the seat that should’ve been my husband’s. His eyes locked with mine, though Becca squealed for him. “Daddy’s home!” she cried, holding her arms out for him.

  “Hi, baby,” he said, not bothering to make eye contact with her, his focus on me. “Can you take her out of here?” he asked, looking at Brent for half a second. Brent looked at me. I thought getting Becca out had been his plan all along, but in that moment, at Lucas’ suggestion, he hesitated.

  “I think I should stay,” he said firmly.

  “No, I don’t think you should,” Lucas snapped, his lips tight. Becca watched him closely, her expression changing as her eyes traveled between the two of us.

  “I don’t give a—”

  “Brent—” I cut him off, a hand held in the air. “It’s fine. Just…would you take Becca outside to play for a bit? Give us a minute?”

  “I don’t want to go!” Becca cried.

  “I know, baby, but you should go play with Uncle Brent. I’ll bet you can beat him at hide-and-seek. What do you think?” I asked, forcing a smile.

  Brent left the room slowly, keeping his eyes trained on me, and for just that moment, I felt safe. As he disappeared, the room cooled quickly. The safe feeling disappeared.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Lucas demanded, taking a heated step toward me. I pushed back further from the table, standing up.

  “What do you mean? He’s visit—”

  “Where did all our money go?” he asked, spittle forming in the corners of his mouth.

  My heart dropped. He hadn’t been meant to notice the withdrawal I’d made the day before. Had the bank called him? “What are you talking about, Lucas?”

  “I’m talking about our checking account, our savings…they’ve both been emptied. What are you doing? Are you thinking of leaving me? Stealing from me?” He took another step toward me, and I moved an equal distance back, our magnets now polarized.

  “Why were you checking our accounts?” I asked cautiously.

  “I visited the bank today,” he said smugly. “They said we only have twenty-five dollars left in either account… What have you done with the rest?”

  I swallowed, considering lying, but it would do no good. I chose a hint of the truth instead. “I moved it all into Becca’s trust.” The one with your name nowhere on it. The one she can’t touch until she’s eighteen. “There were a few transactions in the checking that I didn’t recognize. The bank thought it would be safer to close the accounts and open new ones altogether. I’m in the process of doing that.”

  He scowled. “What kind of transactions?”

  “Rent payments,” I said coolly. “For an apartment downtown. I received the address from the company, and I’ll be turning it over to the police. I have an appointment to go to the station this afternoon. It looks like we were hacked.” His expression went ashen.

  “I…” He ran a hand over his face, and I could see the thoughts swirling in his dark eyes. “I didn’t realize.”

  “You don’t know anything about that, do you?”

  He grimaced, a deep wrinkle forming on his forehead. “No, of course not. Why would I?”

  “Well, the apartment was listed in your name.”

  He went pale, his jaw slack. “I…Naomi—”

  “The bank said it could still be fraudulent, but I wanted to ask you before I talked to the police.”

  “Right,” he said quickly. “Well, I’ll have to think. I mean, I don’t remember renting an apartment… Why don’t you let me handle talking to the police? I can talk to the apartment company first, see what’s going on.”

  “You’d remember renting an apartment, surely.”

  He nodded. “Right, of course. Well, either way, I can take over handling this.”

  I waved him off, pretending to think the offer was gracious. “Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m sure you have work.”

  He shook his head all too quickly. “Nonsense. You shouldn’t have to take Becca downtown to the police station. I can handle it on my way to work.”

  “That’s why Brent’s here. He’s going to help me with her. I know how busy you are.” My innocent act was careless, and I knew it shouldn’t have fooled him, but he seemed too preoccupied trying not to get caught to realize he already had.

  “You don’t need my brother to help you. He shouldn’t know our business,” he snarled, the space between his eyes crinkling with frustration. Any sliver of civility was gone at the mention of his brother. “He shouldn’t even be here. You should’ve told me about this and let me handle it.”

  “Oh, when?” I asked, slamming the chair into the table at the notion. “When exactly would you
have liked for me to do that? When you were running out the door on your way to work, or storming out the door after telling me I was too crazy to take care of our daughter?” I walked around the back of the table, circling it to get out of the dining room. He moved to block the door, his stance set firm.

  “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? We had a fight, and you thought you’d teach me a lesson by stealing from me?”

  I let out a snort. “Stealing from you? Oh, really? We both know that’s impossible.” He grabbed my arm, and I jerked it away, shoving past him and through the doorway. “Between all your debt and student loans, there’s nothing left to steal. There never has been. The money is mine, Lucas—”

  “It’s your parents’ money,” he argued, turning around and following me into the foyer with heavy footsteps. “You haven’t done any interior design since Becca was born, and even before that, come on, Nae, it was a joke.”

  I spun around, shocked by the harshness of his words. “I cannot believe you just said that to me.” I rested my hand on the railing of the stairs, half for comfort and half to keep me from falling over. Lucas had never spoken to me in such a way. Until Sunday, two days ago. That was when something in him seemed to have snapped. What was it? What changed?

  “You stole from me!”

  “I’m not stealing anything—”

  “What do you call it, then?” he demanded. “You took money from our account without telling me.”

  “What did you need the money for anyway?” I asked, shaking my head. “You never get cash. The bills have already been paid for the month. Gas and food go on the AmEx. You should be set.”

  “I was…” His eyes darted back and forth, obviously trying to fabricate whatever he was about to tell me. “One of the nurse’s kids is having a fundraiser at school. I was trying to help out… They get a bike or something if they hit their goal.”

  “You couldn’t write a check?”

  “Does it matter how I paid? Don’t try to turn this around on me! You’re the one hiding things!”

  I scoffed, unable to hold it back any longer. “Oh, I am, am I?” I turned around on the stairs, stomping up them in a way that would’ve gotten Becca scolded.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He jogged after me.

  I stopped so abruptly he shoved into me. I turned back around. “It’s supposed to mean I don’t think I’m the one with all the secrets, Lucas. I’m not the one hiding things and sneaking around.”

  He scowled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” I said, poking my forefinger into his chest. “I know the truth, Lucas. I know what you’ve been doing, and it’s over.”

  His lips pressed together, but he didn’t deny anything. “I’m leaving you, Naomi.”

  I let out a deep, throaty laugh, my hands clutched to my chest. “Oh, whatever will I do without you at night…oh wait. Well, what will I do without you during the day then…oh…wait. What about without your help parenting—” I tapped my finger onto my chin. “No, you don’t do that either. Hmm… You know, I’m realizing, what is it you do for me in this marriage anyway?”

  “You bitch!” he cried, stepping toward me menacingly.

  I held my ground until our chests were mere centimeters apart. “Call me all the names you want, Lucas. Throw your tantrum, tell your lies. At the end of the day, I’m exhausted from caring. I can’t make myself care anymore. I want you out of the house. I don’t care where you go. I don’t care what you do. Just get out.” I waved my hand in the air, gesturing toward the door. My heart thudded loudly in the silence, my face hot with anger.

  A muscle in his jaw twitched as he stared at me. “I’ll get custody of Becca.”

  The words hurt, but not like he’d hoped. It was a threat I had known was coming, but one that stung nonetheless. I held my ground. “Good luck with that…without any money.” I let the words leave my mouth nice and slow, weighing each syllable on my tongue.

  His hands balled into fists at his sides, his shoulders rising practically to reach his ears. “I will get half of that money. It’s mine! I earned it being married to you.”

  “I guess that’s up to the court to decide,” I said with a shrug. “But we both know even if you get half of what was in our account, the money will run out. Mine won’t. You mentioned my mental health, Lucas, but what about yours? I have the resources to get help with my issues. You never have. A childhood of neglect and abuse could be just as damaging as depression, and there’s no pill for that.” I clicked my tongue, feigning concern.

  “You have no idea what I’m capable of,” he said, taking another step toward me until our feet were intertwined on the same step. I leaned back, feeling the anger rising in my chest that I’d only just been able to keep at bay.

  “No, dear husband. I think it’s you who has no idea what I’m capable of. I can dig up every piece of dirt on you, hire private investigators, whatever it takes to prove you’re an unfit father. Given your track record, I don’t think it’ll be that hard. If you push me on this, I will make sure you never see your daughter again. Never get a penny.” His expression changed, grew colder. “But if you walk away, let this divorce go through like it should, you’ll get what you deserve out of this marriage.”

  “I will get half,” he said, leaning in so our foreheads were touching. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh.

  “You deserve nothing,” I argued. “Whatever I give you will be a gift.” I jerked my arm out of his grasp. “And don’t touch me.”

  He took a half-step back, one foot leaving the step we’d shared. “You’re nothing but a spoiled little brat, Naomi. That’s all you’ve ever been. Run back to Mommy and Daddy and let them fix the problem like always.” He shoved a finger against my forehead, bouncing it away from him. “Too bad that can’t fix that fucked up little brain of yours.”

  I swatted his finger away, my blood boiling as I matched his motion, putting my palm on his forehead. “At least my parents cared to try.” I pushed back against his head, watching as it bobbed back as mine had, but never returned forward. Instead, his expression changed from anger to fear in a split second as his head continued falling back, followed by his shoulders. His arms twirled circles as he tried to catch his balance, and I threw my arms forward, reaching for his shirt.

  He fell back in a second, though it seemed to happen in slow motion. His body crumpled as his back slammed into the stairs behind him, and he rolled down, feet over head, then on his side. I stood frozen in place, replaying my actions as I watched it happen.

  What had I done?

  I stared at the body at the bottom of the stairs in horror, my eyes filling with heavy tears. I took a cautious step down, then another. “Lucas?” I called quietly, picturing the police cars that would line the driveway, my face on the news. They’d take Becca away. I’d be thrown in jail.

  It was an accident.

  Did it matter?

  As I neared the bottom step, he let out a groan, his body twitching to life. I choked back a sob, crouching down beside him as he stared around the room, appearing confused. When his eyes met mine, he startled, then pushed himself up and away from me.

  Dark, crimson blood stained the white, marble floor at the foot of the stairs.

  “You tried to kill me,” he stammered, his voice thick with saliva, like he was fighting off a cold.

  “Lucas, no— It was an accident… I didn’t—”

  He put a hand to the back of his head, wincing and pulling it back as he looked at his blood-soaked palm. “I’m so sorry—” I said through my tears. He stared at me in horror, then turned, stumbling as he walked away and toward the door.

  “Let me take you to the hospital!” I yelled after him, trembling in place. I couldn’t move, the fear closing in around my throat. At least he was alive, but did that make this any less of a crime?

  He grumbled something under his breath, pulling open the door, one hand
still on the back of his head and a trail of blood running down the back of his green scrubs. He shut the door without looking back at me and, with his absence, I let myself collapse in the sobs I’d known were coming. I fell to the ground next to the blood on the floor, thick and dark like ink. I covered my mouth, closing my eyes and looking away.

  When the door opened, I looked up, seeing the wrong brother staring back at me taking in the scene. Becca was just behind him, her tiny face peeking around his legs. It was then I noticed the smeared, bloody handprint on the wood of the door, and I knew what this must look like to them.

  What have I done?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Clara

  The heavy footsteps coming down the hall roused me from my sleep. I rolled over, glancing at the time. It was just after two in the morning—earlier than I’d expected Luke to be getting home. I pulled the sheet up over my bare chest as I sat up when the bedroom door opened.

  He didn’t bother turning on the light as he entered the room. His shoulders were slumped, and he walked past the bed without a word.

  “Good morning. You’re home early,” I called, though he didn’t answer. “Luke?” He stopped in the bathroom doorway, looking back at me. I took in his silhouette, almost creepy in the dark room. “You okay?”

  He grunted a quick, “Yes,” while continuing to stare at me.

  “Where have you been? Why’d you let me sleep so long?” I adjusted even more on the bed, watching him closely. Something was off, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. Something had upset him.

  “I had to run an errand,” he said simply, then stepped into the bathroom. “Don’t freak out.” He offered the warning seconds before he flipped on the light, but I had no time to process or heed the words. The back of his head was coated with thick blood, his hair matted. The blood was dried on the back of his neck, down the back of his scrubs. I leapt from the bed, rushing across the room. “Oh my God, Luke. Your head! What happened?”