8 Months Earlier…

The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe topful
Of direst cruelty!-Lady Macbeth

Macbeth Act 1, scene 5, 38–43

“You have to trust me.”

“I’m trying. But trust isn’t something that comes easy to me, Becca.”

I held her in my arms, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing beneath my hands, the softness of her skin, the tremor of fear just below her immaculate surface.

But just as I had done for months, I absorbed every ounce of doubt with words, and with my enveloping warmth.

Mostly, with my hopeful, purposefully-placed lies and subtle aversions.

“Everything will be fine. It really will,” I whispered into her hair.

“How can you be so sure?”

“We’ll get Maggie because I won’t stop trying until we do.”

Because she’s mine as much as she is yours—as is my miserable excuse for a husband.

“I just want my daughter back,” she said, a tear escaping her eyes.

“And you’ll have her,” I say, gripping her tighter as we lay in the bed I hardly ever shared with Aiden, “you’ll have her.”

“I forgot about the perfume.”

She changes course so effortlessly, I stare at her, confused. But then I catch the gleam of a perfume bottle and everything begins to make sense.

“You forgot…again?”

“I’m sorry.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“I know. And I keep forgetting. I’m really, really sorry, Becca.”

“How many times? How many millions of times?”

“I’m an idiot, I know. I just keep letting it slip my mind.”

“It’s ok. It just means I’ll have to change the sheets after you leave.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Oh, please. I’ll do it.”

“I’m capable of doing things myself, you know,” she says, pulling away from me like a spoiled toddler.

“Ashley…”

“You treat me like a child.”

“I treat you like a child because that’s what you are. You need someone to take care of you. That’s just the way it is. God shows us mercy, Ashley. Those of us who weren’t blessed with wisdom or intellect are blessed with the looks necessary to be taken care of those who possess wisdom or intellect. It doesn’t make me love you any less. You’re beautiful.”

“That’s all? That’s all you see when you look at me?”

“I see someone I love…I see someone who deserves to have her daughter back.”

“You love me?”

“You know I love you. Why else would I risk everything to help you?”

“What do you love, exactly? You love the fact that I’m fucking your husband?”