The Secrets We Keep

Chapter 20 - Sarah

Sarah

PRESENT

I'm standing in the doorway to his office. Taking in the audacity of it all. He had her here. Again. In our house. Does he get points for not desecrating our bedroom again? My stomach aches as I inspect the messy aftermath. Like a bad movie, it looks like he carelessly shoved miscellaneous papers aside to fuck this woman I trusted with my child. Trusted with my husband. But only because I was ignorant to their treacherous history. And I was ignorant by design.

The tea in teacup, resting on his desk atop a matching plate, is cold now. Never drank. Never touched. Instead, he touched her. That tea set was a wedding gift. And there it rests, staring back at me, making a mockery of my infuriating marriage.

My eyes land on his office chair now. Did he fuck her here too? William and I picked it out when we first moved in. Seeing it in a new light, I take in the majestic brown leather. If memory serves, it was incredibly comfortable. I don't dare test it now though. The thought alone makes me feel violently nauseous.

He'd spend hours in this chair, writing his bestsellers. We'd made love on this chair, him digging his fingers into my hips while I rode him endlessly. It was his lucky chair as he called it. Lucky for who? My arms begin to itch with a burning sensation I feel in my veins. I want to scratch this chair, hell this entire office, to smithereens and completely erase its existence from my house.

Joseph is busy keeping Violet company in our kitchen. Coloring and cutting out shapes using construction paper. He's since cleaned up the mess he and William made in the hallway and even the mess I made with that vase. Those flowers were a gift from William. Probably something to take the sting out of his sneaky deceit.

Heading toward the kitchen, I brush past Joseph and Violet, clearly on a mission. I can feel his eyes on me, weary and concerned, as I pull a kitchen knife from its wooden case, the sound of steel meeting brief resistance from the wood as I grab it. It makes that delicious slicing sound. Like swords striking against one another in battle. I lick my lips, my face determined as I make my way back to his office.

"Uhh, Sarah?" Joseph calls after me.

I hear the scrape of the bar stool against the floor as his footsteps follow me into William's office. Without looking back, I grab the back of the chair and raise the knife above my head. Through pained grunts, I slice, strike and demolish the retched thing, until its insides are on the outside. I keep going, making sure not to leave any surface untouched. I want this thing demolished. Dead. Absolutely obliterated. And boy do I succeed.

But I'm not finished yet. Joe mentioned he caught him fucking her against this desk. He's fucked me against that desk too. He's had me everywhere in this house. It's what you're supposed to do when you're married, in love and can't keep your hands off each other. You fuck any and everywhere you can. I hate him. I fucking hate him!

I take the knife and carve out my frustrations. I'm not trying to write any words or make any sense. I just let my shaking hands take over and follow where the knife and my hysteria lead. When I step back from the destruction, I'm out of breath.

Movement dances at my periphery and I turn to see not only Joseph, but Violet and Patrick watching me as well. Patrick protectively has his arm around Violet as her little body clings to him. Fuck. I brush hair out of my face.

"Mom?" Patrick's voice wavers, his eyebrows knitting.

"Mommy's okay," I say, probably unconvincingly.

"Is she?" Violet asks Patrick.

"Y-yeah. Let's go upstairs. Why don't you show me your latest painting?" he suggests.