Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
It was not just Samuel’s life that was at stake. Our life as a family too.
When Samuel finally came home close to midnight, I had come up with what to say, a convincing speech, but one look at his face told me he’d had a bad day. And I knew what that meant.
My smile was tight when he came toward me and kissed me. I smelled spearmint on his breath. His habit of chewing bubble gum during the day had set off my alarm bells, and today, my fears were proven right. In the beginning, I had even tried to convince myself that it was an innocent new habit to distract him from his desire to drink, but I knew deep down that it wasn’t to take the place of one addiction but to cover up one.
One look into his eyes told me he had drunk quite a bit. Far more than the days before. If he weren’t such a trained drinker, he probably would have had a slur and trouble walking, but as it was only the less controlled way of his mimic and the look in his eyes revealed the truth.
“How was your day?”
“I visited the graveyard today. It was meant as a final goodbye. Now that we’ll be parents soon, I thought it was time to let the past rest.”
Ah, so he wanted to dull his pain with alcohol. My heart ached for his anguish, but at the same time, I felt angry, so very angry because he lied to me, because he was forcing me closer to a decision I didn’t want to make.
I loved Samuel. I loved him so much, but I was at a crossroads, and only one road allowed me to stay with him. Could I really give him an ultimatum like that?
Could I not? Could I let our baby be born into a household with an alcoholic father? What if he lost control because of it one day? I didn’t believe it, but wouldn’t it be negligent of me not to think about it?
Samuel cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, squinting toward his office door. “I need to work for a couple more hours. Maybe you should go to bed.”
I pressed my lips together. “I think you should come to bed with me.” My eyes pleaded with him to follow me. Don’t force me to make a choice my heart won’t survive.
Samuel shook his head. “I really need to work. Things will calm down again soon.”
Another lie. This wasn’t about work. He would drink while locked in his office.
I followed Samuel into the hallway and watched him head for his office door. When he stopped in front of it, his eyes settled on the lock. He smoothed a finger over it. Had I left scratches in the metal?
This was my chance to say something.
He dropped his finger and reached for his key. “This is for your safety,” he said.
I didn’t say anything. Nothing about locking that door was for my safety. Rage bubbled up in me. He met my gaze. His lies met mine. Neither of us said anything for a couple of heartbeats. “Sleep tight.”
I nodded and turned around, then wheeled toward the elevator without looking back.
Tears prickled in my eyes, but I fought them.
It took more than an hour for me to fall asleep, but my sleep was fitful, and eventually, I woke up. At first, I wasn’t sure why, but then I realized my nightgown was wet. I froze. My first thought was that I had wet myself. In the very beginning, after my accident, that had happened on occasion, but that was years ago. I turned on the lights, and panic filled me. I was bleeding. For several heartbeats, I couldn’t do anything but stare, filled with terror. I touched my belly as my pulse raced in my veins.
I grabbed my phone and called Samuel. The phone rang several times before he finally picked up. “What’s wrong, Emma?”
His voice was rough, not slurred but definitely more drawn out than usual. My heart sank.
“I’m bleeding.”
“What? I’m coming up.”
I moved toward the edge of the bed, trying not to panic. With an anterior placenta like mine, bleeding wasn’t entirely uncommon. My doctor had warned me that this could happen.
Samuel staggered into the bedroom, his hair disheveled, his trousers and shirt wrinkled as if he’d slept on the floor. Remembering how I’d found him once at the beginning of our marriage, I knew this wasn’t completely unlikely.
Samuel came toward me, his eyes taking in my bloody nightgown. “I’ll take you to the hospital.” When he bent over me to pick me up, a wave of alcohol hit me. I scrunched up my nose. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m fine. I just had a glass of brandy to wind down.”
“You’re drunk, Samuel. Call Danilo. He can take me to the hospital.”