Chapter 77

The next day at work, Kimberly calls me into my office as soon as I arrive. I hurry to leave my bag and coat at my desk and then do as she asks.

“Congratulations,” she says when I come to stand in front of her desk. “That article you submitted about the rise in micro-plastics in our drinking water has gained national traction. Even when the network aired a segment on it, the viewership spiked. We’ve even managed to secure an exclusive interview with the mayor because of this.”

I’m pleased to hear this, not just for my personal gain but so that active measures can be taken to stop the problem. The more people who care, the more likely those in charge will do something about it.

The mayor is a good man. Likely, he didn’t even know about the problem until my article. There are many other things on his plate. I’m glad to think that he’ll be stepping up now, though.

“Keep up with these quality ideas and articles, Esther, and you’ll move up the ranks here in no time,” Kimberly says.

God, it’s nice to have an editor who is actually supportive, unlike Lila who only ever wanted to boost her own reputation. Kimberly seems to care about the good of the company and my personal success as well.

“Thank you,” I tell her.

“I’m not just blowing smoke,” Kimberly says.

“I didn’t think that,” I say at once.

Kimberly shakes her head and continues, “Hugo himself complimented you in our morning meeting. I’m serious about this. You are on the right track for advancement.”

Pride swells within me. It feels like too much to hope for, that I might advance so soon after earning my permanent spot on the team. Even knowing that, I hope all the same.

Every accolade, every advancement, will help me in my divorce and custody cases. Also, the success fills me with a kind of personal joy that I rarely feel anymore.

I’m so satisfied, feeling like I’ve finally earned my place here.

“Keep up the good work,” Kimberly says and waves me away in dismissal.

“Thank you,” I tell her again and leave her office to return to my desk and start my work day.

I work hard until morning break, but even as I work, I think about my family. Are they proud of me for my success? Has my father seen the article? What does he think?

During my break, rather than stretch my legs and refill my coffee like I normally do, I unlock my phone and call my father.

The phone rings and rings, the noises starting to irk my anxiety. It rings five times, then six. Is he not going to answer?

The call goes to voice mail.

He could be in a meeting, I reason. Or on the other line.

“This is Preston H. Owens,” the voice mail says, my father’s voice. “Leave a message.”

The tone sounds, and it’s my turn to say something.

“Father,” I say. After the arguments the other night, this is more difficult than I imagined. I want to believe he’s not screening my calls, but the thoughts still creep in, unwelcome.

Say something, I scold myself internally.

I clear my throat and say, “I don’t know if you say my article, but, uh… It’s a hit. I just… um… wanted you to know, I guess. I hope you are proud. Thanks… Okay, bye.”

I hang up the phone, then lower it, and my forehead, down to my desk. That has to be the worst voice message I’ve ever left in my entire life.

For a moment, a strange sort of adrenaline shoots through me and I have a wild fantasy about hacking into my father’s phone to delete the message before he can hear it. But I quickly push the musing away. I don’t know the first thing about hacking anything.

Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time I embarrassed myself in front of my father. This time feels different though, probably because we are already estranged.

I hate fighting with my parents. I hate how Thea wedged so many divides into our family. They have always preferred Thea to me, but I was at least included before.

Now, I feel like I’ve lost something very important, and I have no idea if I’ll ever get it back.

For the rest of the day, while I continue to work hard, I keep checking my phone for a message or call from Father.

Nothing.

At the end of the day, I still feel proud of myself but its dampened somewhat without the support of my family. I make my way home a little slower than usual. When I pull into the driveway, Garnar’s car is there, but Thea’s isn’t.

That’s odd to me. Since they’ve made their affair known, they’ve rarely left each other’s sides. Maybe Thea had to put in a late shift, I wonder, though she’s been at our house so much lately, I don’t even know if she has her same job.

Well, whatever. It’s not like it has anything to do with me anyway. I’m only staying here for my daughters, not to catch up on whatever drama is going on between Garnar and Thea now.

I lock up my car and enter the house. As soon as I’m through the front door, Garnar storms toward me from the kitchen.

“You treacherous, vile, heartless bitch,” Garnar growls. He stops two feet away from me, close enough for me to see the vein bulging in his forehead. His whole face reddens to the color of a tomato.

His appearance would be almost funny, if not for anger in his eyes and the harsh, ugly words spewing from his mouth.

“Don’t speak to me like that,” I snap. Maybe in the past, I would have let him slide for speaking to me in such a demeaning way, but no longer. The wilting flower he walked all over in our marriage has grown into a rose bush now. I’ve got thorns.

“I’ll speak to you how I damn well please,” Garnar says, his tone sharp and vicious. “After what you’ve done, you deserve every word and worse.”

What I’ve done? “And what, presumably, have I done?” I demand.

“Like you don’t know. You’ve been plotting against me from the start!”

“I’m not the one who has been having an affair, Garnar!”

“You’ve never been understanding. You’ve hijacked my happiness for years, and now that I finally found a glimmer of hope at a life for myself, you’ve sabotaged it. You may be miserable, but you didn’t need to steal everyone else’s happiness.”

What the hell is he talking about? I look at him closely, but he doesn’t seem to be on any drugs. His eyes are clear. And he’s not slurring his words or swaying on his feet, so I don’t think he’s drunk.

Has he snapped away from reality somehow?

Or did something actually happen that I’m taking the blame for?

“Garnar,” I say, easing my tone. If I’m less combative and more placating, maybe he’ll actually tell me what the hell is going on. “I need you to spell it out for me. What do you think I did?”

“Playing dumb is unattractive, Esther,” Garnar says, “But since you want to be difficult.” He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a folded up envelope. “Here.”

Taking the envelope from him, I open it to see a handwritten letter and a couple of snapshots inside.

Pulling out one of the photos, I startle and nearly drop it in shock.

This picture is a candid shot of Thea, having sex with a man who is decidedly not Garnar.