Secrets? Never.

4. Flew Too Close To The Sun

It always had amazed Emily that, even when her eyes were closed, even when she'd shut herself off from the world, she could still see.

Well, obviously she couldn't see, but she could tell whether it was day or night, whether there was someone else in the room with her, or whether she was alone. It felt to her as though, even in her darkest of hours (literally speaking; not figuratively), that God himself had blessed her with sight; with clarity of perception. This strengthened her faith, her hope, that God hasn't yet grown discouraged of her.

Correction; God hadn't yet grown discouraged of her. At this point, lying alone in bed, eyes shut, with no light perception, Emily was pretty sure she'd been given up on. Her little glimmer of hope in her self-inflicted darkness had been dimmed to nothing but blackness. An endless blackness that consumed her soul piece by piece. She couldn't see what lay ahead anymore. Like her happiness had been eaten up, leaving nothing but a gaping void, the likes of which could, in her opinion, only be filled with copious amounts of liquid courage. Her eyes fluttered for a moment as she adjusted to the intrusive beams of sunlight that were stabbing her retinas. So she had another sip of her fifth glass of wine, to numb the pain, and mitigate the sting brought forth by her own loneliness.

All day and night, she sat in bed; only moving to shower and brush her teeth every morning. Daniel made breakfast; he got the girls up, and dressed; he tied his own tie; he haphazardly tied Sophia's hair, while Isabella took a pass on the maiming; he got off work early to pick the two up from school; he hired a nanny to come in every day to look after Danny; he came home and cooked dinner, bringing it up to Emily; and he went to bed in the spare room, to avoid the strong smell of alcohol that lingered around his wife, despite her showering. He had put it down to sheer volume, and concluded that she had to be at least 60% pure booze.

It was odd to Emily that he hadn't once threatened to leave, or even ask why she was acting that way. She thought maybe there had been a true reform, and he was actually regretting his past indiscretions. He never sought to delve deeper into her pain, though, choosing instead to remove himself from the situation entirely.

He didn't realise just how much she was hurting; but, of course, he could never really know. She could never really tell him; at least, bit until she'd finished her work, and gotten all of her ducks into a row. She couldn't tell him about her tryst with Aiden, or how he'd lied about that night on the boat.

She could not wrap her head around how much he'd skewed the story, though. It was as if he'd swapped his role for Daniel's, and vice versa. He told the story so he came off as the pitiful jilted ex, who'd gotten left by the woman of his dreams, for her little piece on the side (which wasn't really too much of an exaggeration, given the fact that Aiden dwarfed Daniel height-wise). What's more, she was no longer the woman who'd done what was right for her family, but the woman who gave up the man who loved her for greener pastures; for more money, and a better life.

Oh she loathed Aiden Mathis; with all of her being she did. But she couldn't help but feel the sort of angry passion she'd only ever felt with Daniel. So she poured another glass of Merlot, and fumbled around the room for the half-empty vodka, trying to suppress her feelings, so that she could maybe get up the next morning.

It would seem, that for Emily Grayson, the tables had finally turned, and she had become her husband.

© Sarah Egan 2014 - 2015. All rights reserved. This story is subject to copyright and may not be copied or reproduced without the express permission of the author.