“I’m sorry... I... uh... I didn’t mean to—”
“Honey, come inside,” my mom insists. “I’ll make some herbal tea, and you can tell us all about it.”
I nod once, following behind them into the house.
My dad pulls out a chair at the same kitchen table where I ate thousands of breakfasts. “Sit.”
Nostalgia slams into me as I look around and realize nothing has changed. Not one. Damn. Thing. The black and white checkered valance still hangs above the big window over the sink. My mother’s bright red KitchenAid mixer sits on a little rolling cart in the corner. The wooden plaque I made for Mother’s Day in the fifth grade is proudly displayed on the wall, declaring Anna James “The Best Mom Ever.” A giant Thermos sits on the butcher block countertop next to the coffeemaker, ready to be filled to the brim with French Roast right before my dad gets to work on the ranch. I don’t even realize I’m crying until the first drop hits my hand.
I dab at my eyes, hissing when I touch a sore spot. Thankfully, I can open the lid fully now, but the discoloration is so severe, it’s not much of an improvement.
My dad runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “Presley, honey, I’m trying to be patient here, but I need you to start speaking before I lose my damn mind.”
My mom sits in the chair next to mine and gently reaches her hand out. She’s eyeing me like a cornered animal, going nice and slow, telegraphing her intentions. When her delicate fingers finally wrap around mine, I hiccup a sob which, unfortunately, seems to release the floodgates. I start crying uncontrollably, weeping for I don’t even know what at this point, but I can’t seem to stop. I’m not sure how long I sit there bawling. At the same time, my mom whispers words of assurance in my ear before my tears are all dried out. My eyes are even more swollen, making it increasingly difficult to keep them open.
“Please,” I sniff. “I’m just so tired. God, so, so tired. I promise I’ll tell you everything, but I really need some sleep.”
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve had a restful night, and it feels like it’s all catching up with me at once.
“Of course, honey.” My mom stands. “I’ll just go put some fresh sheets on your bed real quick, and you can get some rest. We kept your room for you, Pres. Just in case you ever decided to visit.”
I shake my head, guilt nagging at my conscience. “Don’t worry about changing the sheets, Mom. I’ll be fine.”
She nods. “Okay, sweetheart. Whatever you want. There should be some of your old clothes in the dresser if you’d like to make yourself more comfortable.”
“Thank you.”
I duck my head and slowly make my way up the long staircase. I can hear my parents talking, but they’re so quiet, I can’t make out what they’re saying to each other. I probably don’t want to know right now anyway. My entire body aches, so every step is daunting. When I finally reach my old bedroom, I turn the knob and step inside. I don’t bother turning on the lamp. There’s enough moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains to see the bed, and even if there wasn’t, I have every inch of this room memorized. From the little bit I can see, nothing’s changed in here either. I step out of my jeans and crawl under the covers, sighing in relief as I hit the soft mattress. It takes me a minute to find a comfortable position with my shoulder, but once I do, I fall asleep so fast, I don’t even remember closing my eyes.
After only a few hours of restless slumber, I woke up. My physical discomfort caused me to wake, but my brain’s inability to shut down is what’s keeping me that way. Damn, I really should’ve filled that prescription before leaving the hospital, but it’s too late now. I couldn’t stand tossing and turning in bed any longer, so I made my way down to the old swing on the front porch, wrapped in a big blanket to ward off the early morning chill. I had hoped the repetitious motion would make me sleepy, but so far, it hasn’t helped. My parents should be up soon anyway, looking for answers, so it’s probably a lost cause.
I stare at my phone for what feels like the thousandth time this morning. I know I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. Shocked is more like it. Sebastian has put me through so much over the years—more than I would ever wish on my worst enemy—but I never, and I do mean never, thought he’d cheat. There’s too much at stake if he were caught. He’s up for reelection soon, and if this got out, it would create a massive scandal. One that could significantly tarnish his precious image.
Mayor Winters can do no wrong in the eyes of his constituents. He’s their golden boy, the living Adonis, with the mind of a genius and a golden smile. The youngest person to ever hold his office in state history. The man who led his city, remaining calm yet steadfast during a major health crisis. His efforts during that time were monumental. Tireless. He campaigned for all citizens, young and old, rich or poor; it didn’t matter. They were all deserving because they were his people and, therefore, his responsibility. He refused to give up until the city had the resources needed to safely and effectively manage the crisis. Because of Sebastian’s leadership, New York City citizens made it through to the other side. Not unscathed by any means, but it could’ve been so much worse.
I won’t ever deny all the good he’s done during his time in office, but I also cannot forget the man he is in public is most certainly not the man he is in private. Honesty and family values—the two principles he based his entire platform on—don’t mean shit to him. Sewer rats probably rank higher. But he puts on a good show, I’ll give him that. More than one media outlet has dubbed my husband a modern-day knight. Others have called him a champion for the people. Then, there’s my personal favorite: The Saint of New York.
God, if they only knew.
It looks like the good people of New York might learn the truth about their so-called hero soon enough. The evidence sitting in front of me is pretty hard to dismiss. There’s no denying the fact that Mariana Pérez, the First Deputy Mayor of New York City, is the woman on her knees giving my husband an enthusiastic blowjob. She, too, is married, which would only intensify the scandal if this got out. I have no idea who sent this video to me, but someone has the power to expose them, and if that happened, it wouldn’t be pretty for anyone. Especially me, considering I’m Sebastian’s favorite target.
After what happened the other night, I’m convinced there’s no line he won’t cross, which is what finally prompted me to run. I was foolish to think otherwise, and I hate myself for not seeing it sooner. I will never allow myself to be that vulnerable again. I’m not stupid enough to think Sebastian will give up without a fight—hell, he said as much—but being a thousand miles away, surrounded by family, gives me some room to breathe. To strategize. And a small part of me can’t help thinking that maybe this is my opportunity to push the reset button. Move beyond all the pain from my past, both physical and mental, and do things right going forward. Maybe this is my chance for redemption.
The sound of gravel crunching draws my attention toward the left. Damn it. Someone is coming up the driveway at—I check my phone—four-thirty in the morning. Who would show up at this hour? It’s a little too early for the ranch hands. My brother, Clayton’s place, is nearby, but he has his own driveway about a quarter mile down the road. Shit. Has Sebastian come for me already? How on earth did he get a flight at this hour? He must’ve chartered a private jet. Oh, God, I need to get inside. I lock my phone, not wanting to draw attention to myself with its light. Thankfully, the sun’s not up yet, and I switched the porch light off before I came out here, so I’m cloaked in darkness as I creep toward the front door.