My hair was slightly messy.
I looked tired.
But I was laughing.
Completely unguarded.
Russell had seen that woman before the house.
Before the ring.
Before anyone accused me of wanting his money.
Some evenings, I spoke to him.
I knew he wasn’t downstairs.
I knew he wasn’t brewing tea.
I knew I wouldn’t hear his footsteps in the hallway.
Still, I talked.
“I’m trying,” I told the empty room.
When the baby first kicked during a storm, I sat on the edge of our bed and cried.
“The baby likes rain,” I whispered.
Then I laughed through my tears.
“Or hates it. I have no idea how this works.”
For a moment, I could almost hear Russell telling me I was doing fine.
Part 10 — What He Really Left Me
Months later, I stood in the enormous kitchen that had once intimidated me.
Morning sunlight stretched across the floor.
