Marlys

CHAPTER 1 - Through the window

MIRANDA

Her life used to be mine. And I loved it, while it lasted.

But nothing lasts forever.

The brevity of Hunter Brannigan's love was only matched by his temper. In the end, it's what tore our marriage and family apart. The roaring flames of the fire pit consumed every reminder of me. Photographs, books, letters, even extravagant dresses, discarding me from both his memory and my baby's. Only flecks of ash remain now, after all these years. It's a far cry from when we sat there sipping merlot along with his executive friends and their wives, debating which country to holiday in this year.

It didn't surprise me, though. He treated others with far less care, both professionally and personally.

Even his own parents couldn't escape it, abandoning them in the wake of his mother's terminal diagnosis of early onset dementia. And his best friend and business partner of his very first venture. They went all in, but Hunter's betrayal left him high and dry while Hunter's new company raked in seven figures per year in its first five years. It's baffling how he can walk away so easily. And then there's me. Will he discard this one too?

Sometimes I like to watch her. This new one. This replacement.

She doesn't know. At least I don't think she does.

From the other side of the window, shrouded by shadows; I watch Marlys race down the stairwell, running her hand along the white banister, skipping every second step. She brushes past the home office where Hunter, glued to his phone, paces across the room. Her perfect, broad smile makes me sick to my stomach. So innocent, so unaware.

Marlys drapes the floral print apron from her neck and sets about making batter, before flopping pancakes into a neat stack.

"Kage, breakfast is ready," she calls out.

Dusting her hands against the fabric, she grabs a mug announcing, Number one dad. I'd bet my last dollar, if I had any, that she bought that. Steam rises from it as she heads towards the office door. She knocks, awaiting Hunter's approval to enter. He nods. Smiling still, she pats his shoulder while his focus remains fixed on his call.

Again, she calls out to my son just as the doorbell rings. The family's black cat Liquorice is curled in the warmth of their handsome neighbour's arms, bundling her like a baby.

I strain to hear their muted conversation, but the glass barrier and distance between us muffles their voices, barely able to hear their laughter. But there's no doubt Marlys' god-awful grin is even broader than before. Narrowing in on their exchange, he mirrors her, inching closer as her hand grazes against his arm. This is a side of Xander I haven't seen before. He never flirted with me like this, that's for sure. And in all honesty, I thought he was gay. Not that I'm in any position to judge.

It's a curious thing to think you know a person. But even if you knew someone for a century, I think they would still hold something back, whether through shame, or guilt, or some other wretched feeling. You can't truly know anyone else. Not really.

My chest tightens as Kage ambles towards the table. He was so young when we parted. Barely able to take a step. Now he's almost a giant, at six feet tall, and always glued to his phone, just like his father. And so broody. I suppose that's teenagers, though.

He slides into a chair at the breakfast table, facing the window where I'm precariously positioned. Marlys places a neat pile of pancakes before him and smiles. How does her face not fall off from all that excessive grinning? It's beyond me. Kage disregards her and drowns the plate in a sea of maple.

But then her smile falters. Just for a moment. She discreetly wipes away a tear from beneath her eye as she turns back towards the kitchen. She closes her eyes briefly and then opens them, putting that smile back on her face.

And there it is. The hint that tells me what I'm itching to know.

She's not Cinderella, and this isn't her castle.

Nevertheless, I'm familiar with her routine and I observe her while she makes lunch for both Hunter and Kage. Grabbing the stack of brightly coloured post-it notes, she scribbles something before placing them on the meals she's so lovingly prepared. She's so pleased with herself. It should be me placing the note, not her. If only I could, I would tell Kage how much I love him. That my heart bursts with just the memory of us. But a mother shouldn't have to yearn. To be so close and yet, unable to touch him, torture.

The little black cat, so elegant, crawls along the table's edge, pouncing onto the window ledge. I can't have her bringing any attention to me, and I slither further back into the shadows. She balances, stretching her hind leg like a ballerina, and bathes in the sliver of sunshine penetrating through the glass. When she's done, she curves her spine with a yawn, and steps forward, but then she sees me, and her eyes lock with mine.

She jerks into a defensive position, mouth pulling back into a high-pitched hiss. Kage glances over at the interruption furrowing his brow, but he's none the wiser and quickly returns his attention to his phone and pancakes.

Holding the cat's stare, I crouch deeper into the shadows, as far as I can to hide. Yet she takes a daring step forward, challenging me as her hissing grows louder and more aggressive.

This blasted cat will give me away one of these days.

A gust of wind bursts through the garden, branches and bushes rustling. My opportunity to flee. I scramble from the window to another spot to wait, closer to the garage, burrowed into a row of bushes. While I rest, memories recoil, too painful to endure. But I need to monitor Kage and his parents-if you can call them that.

The front door swings open as Marlys heads towards the small electric car, a birthday present from Hunter. Kage follows behind, swinging his bag over his shoulder, and dragging himself towards the front passenger door. He stands, waiting for the beep. If I reach out now, I can touch him, to feel my son's warmth. But do I dare? What if I frighten him? I can't.

Withdrawing from the bush's edge, he reaches for the door handle, but he shudders, as if an icy chill ran down his back. His eyes narrow as he turns, scanning the vicinity for a moment, then shakes his head to clear it before jumping in the car.

That was close. Too close.

I'll have to be more careful next time.