We go to bed in our usual way, me lying to one side of her, Michael to the other, but she won’t speak. And as the corrosive rage that took me dies away, I grow uneasy, the awareness of my sin creeping over me.
The fury which bloomed in me, hot and toxic, withers, to be replaced by a chill recognition that she did nothing. The entire situation was a fantasy resulting from a snake of my own jealousy. First Michael fell prey to it and now me. She"s done nothing. I never even tried to deny her other men. Why would she not react to someone like Haswell?
My sleep is broken. Images flash by: Charlotte crying and screaming, betrayal on her face, fear in her eyes as she looks at me, racked with sobbing as she collapses onto the bed.
I wake, reaching for her, wanting to chase away the demons, wan
