Colette

Pacing the one spot in front of her sofa, Maribel didn’t sit. “Are you serious? I mean, I understand, but fuck, Cole, there is so much to lose for all of us, but they’ll point it back to Lucas.” Maribel was almost in tears.

“You are right, and there are so many variables to think about. I mean, I have a passport, but I’m not sure I want to cross the border. For all intents and purposes, I’m Colette Dubroise, Canadian citizen. Born in Calgary, May 1^st, 1984. You know I love my man to have aged two extra years,” she said with a small laugh, though Maribel had heard that joke too many times to find it funny. If she had to venture a guess, Maribel also teetered between furious anger and motherly understanding. “Okay, bad joke, I know. Anyway, Colette Dubroise has never been in the United States.”

“How about a letter? Write her another letter. Be careful like you were before. Luke is always going to the States. We will have him send it via mail this time. Explain to your mom what happened. Tell her why you left. Maybe she’s ready to see what has been in front of her this whole time and why you had to leave.” She delivered her pleas with urgency.

“Maybe but I feel it needs to be more personal, plus there are innocent people who he can hurt too, and I can’t chance it. And my mom will think David brainwashed me.”

Maribel gave her the same look she had for the past eight years, since finding out the secret concerning her previous life. “Well, in a way, David sort of has, Cole.” It was the same phrase she’d repeated to her for the past eight years too.

It angered her to no end when Maribel’s opinions of David were lower than dirt. “Bell.” With a downturned mouth and rotating her body at an angle to avoid her sister-in-law, she allowed contempt to claim her voice when she snapped, “You know I love him.”

“I don’t doubt that. I’m just saying, of course, your mom would see it differently.”

She had to confide in one person regarding her double life, and when Maribel married into the family ten years ago, shortly after she and David had wed, the bond she’d forged with Maribel was almost closer than the bond she had with her mom. She clicked with Maribel in every way; however, they were two completely different people. She was punctual, but Maribel ran on Maribel time.

Colette wore expensive clothing. David insisted on only the best for his wife with designer clothes, and although Lucas didn’t make the kind of money a doctor did, Maribel and Lucas lived extraordinarily sufficient. However, Maribel refused to wear dresses or slacks. She loved jeans and boots and looked as if she was the reincarnated version of Janis Joplin, just without the raspy voice strumming out the lyrics of “Me and Bobby McGee.”

Mikayla needed to talk to one other person about her life before David. Lucas knew the truth, but David wanted her to decide if Maribel was trustworthy enough to confide in with such a deep-seated secret.

When she was pregnant with Elizabeth, they sat down for dinner with Lucas and Maribel as they had so many other times in her life. However, Maribel could tell by everyone’s demeanor that they were about to delve into a very serious conversation.

Maribel joked, trying to break the ice, and said, “Okay, who went missing?” It was weird to Colette that the saying was normally who died, but Maribel changed it so casually, and her own face distorted to that of a ghost.

Lucas began as he said, “Honey, Cole and David have something to tell you, and I know about it. You are going to think I was being dishonest with you, but it was not my story to tell.”

Maribel looked at her and David and then back at Lucas. “You all are freaking me the fuck out.” Maribel’s language reverted to that of a sailor when she was scared.

She began to tell her sister-in-law about her life with another name; growing up in a different town, and hell, in a different country. Just twelve hours away from them all, she led a life without the rest of her family in it. Then she started to explain the transformation to Colette when she met and truly understood David.

“I don’t understand, Cole. Your family sounds like the people you’ve always wanted. Why would you abandon them?”

David took over the story and explained her life on the farm, starting his own narrative from the ending of Mikayla Miller and rationalizing how he’d abducted her. Sharing the reason with her, he revealed his protective nature because of past relationships; Maribel sat slack-jawed and speechless. Suddenly, Maribel looked at Lucas, knowing his connection to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and asked, “You helped her become Colette?”

He nodded briefly, but she knew her husband’s relationship with his brother too well. He would do anything for David. Maribel quietly excused herself from the table, grabbing the keys from her purse, and left all three in the dining room without another word.

Maribel was gone for a week. Lucas couldn’t reach her. Her parents confirmed she was safe, but that was all. In the week, Colette physically recoiled at the burden they had placed on Lucas when she became a new person.

A week later, Maribel showed up on her doorstep when she knew David would be at work. Colette was sick with worry and emotionally distraught with the transformation of her body with the upcoming birth of Elizabeth. She was never so happy to see someone in her life.

Grabbing onto her as though Maribel was about to vanish, she screeched, “Maribel, holy hell! We’ve been so worried about you.”

She didn’t say anything to Colette at first. They just stood there as she cried from relief. Finally, after five minutes of standing in the doorway, Maribel said, “You know there is a clinical diagnosis for what David did to you, right?”

“Maribel, I went willingly,” Colette insisted, unable to look Maribel in the face; instead, she just stared aimlessly at the engagement ring David had given her a few years earlier.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Cole. You know what he did was wrong.”

“But I love him more than life itself.”

“And that brings me back to my original question. You know there is a diagnosis for what happened with the two of you, right?”

“Yes, Bell, of course, I’ve heard about it. I’m here of my own accord.” She never wanted to utter those two words; it sounded so dirty and made it more real. She always had a decision in this, and she truly believed he would have let her go.

Maribel walked past her. “You need to sit.” Grabbing her by the hand, Maribel brought Colette to the couch. “You know how mad I am at Lucas. He allowed this.”

“He didn’t want to help us, not at first, but after losing Evangeline, which nearly destroyed David and Lucas, Lucas couldn’t watch David lose another person he loved. But you must believe me; he wouldn’t have helped us if I didn’t beg him. I convinced him, Bell.”

“I don’t care. I read a book recently that bothered me.” Maribel went on and on about this story, sharing every detail of the plot with her. Every time the two of them had a deep conversation about something, Maribel would get her information from the exorbitant amount of reading she’d done. She’d always start a sentence with, “I read a book recently …”

She continued her statement. “It really affected me that someone could be influenced like that poor girl was, and as I always do, I lash out my feelings at Lucas. He stood there as I mentioned this diagnosis and didn’t say a word, knowing my best friend and his sister-in-law had succumbed to this very thing.” Maribel’s voice was borderline yelling and shaky at best while tears stained her face.

It was odd to Colette that they had never mentioned what diagnosis they were talking about; however, it wasn’t hard to figure it out. “You act as if I wasn’t a willing participant.”

Her voice became elevated, and Maribel yelled, “But you weren’t, Colette, or whatever I should call you.”

“You need to call me Cole as you always have. I’m Colette. That other person doesn’t exist anymore, Bell. This is very important, do you understand?”

“Of course, I do. For fucking crying out loud, my husband is part of this. Shit, now I am.” She stood, walking back and forth, wearing the carpet beneath her clogs.

“They can never prove I was under duress, Bell. I would never claim that, and if asked, I would say I left to start a new life.”

“Would your parents ever believe this?”

“My mom never would. It’s why I chose David over my family.” But she didn’t reveal the other reasons she stayed. She wasn’t ready to expose every dirty secret. Not yet, anyway.

Maribel sat across from her, silently thinking about her next couple of sentences. She breathed in the air around her as if the house in which David lived was polluting her. “You know, I can never get over this. I’m not saying we’re done. You are my friend and family, but I can’t look at David the same ever again. He has put my husband in danger, and I still can’t wrap my head around how he has corrupted you.” Maribel stood still with a trembling chin. “I’m not sure how to get past this, Cole. You and me, we are okay because I think of you as a victim.” When those words came out Maribel’s mouth, Colette’s manner changed.

“I’m not a fucking victim. I chose this.” Her pulse jittered, causing her to hold on to the sides of the couch when her head began to spin. She might be a victim, but in a different way, and not at the hands of David.

“That is where we differ, Cole. I love you, and I will keep this secret. Of course, I will. There is no one I love more than Lucas and you. I need space, though; not from you, but from David.”

“I understand.” Her tone was mimicking the release of air from a flat tire, and just like her timbre, her whole body barely stood as she deflated.

“I’m not going to make you choose because obviously there is nothing you wouldn’t do for David.”

Her eyes locked on Maribel. “Short of murder, I guess you’re right.”

* * *

Taylor

Dexter was a nightmare this particular day. She felt her nerves unraveling, and Blake had left her the longest list of chores. All she wanted to do was rest while Dexter was down for a nap. It took him an hour to fall asleep. Whoever termed it the terrible twos never had a three-year-old. No was the only word that little demon of hers used.

It was apparent to those around her that she didn’t have that spark anymore. Her sister said, “You’re pregnant, you should glow.” Even Blake couldn’t really hide his controlling nature around her parents anymore, but he was perfect as an altar boy on Sunday around his parents. It made her wonder what sort of marriage Libby and Adam had. Did they hide behind closed doors? But that couldn’t be true. Libby seemed happier than Taylor, and she had lost her daughter.

The chicken for dinner wasn’t thawed yet, and she had checks to pay and Blake’s ironing to get done before five. It was nearly three, and her spastic toddler would be awake soon. She had thought about sitting down with Blake and coming to a compromise about housework once the new baby was born. Blake wouldn’t allow her to take Dexter to preschool. “This is why you stayed home, Tay, to be a stay-at-home mom. To invest in our son’s life. It makes no sense to send him to school just for you to get a break when he will be in school for the rest of his life.” It would be hard to juggle a three-year-old and a newborn along with all his daily demands.

She hoped her milk would come in this time. He’d made her feel like a failure as a mom when she couldn’t nurse Dexter. “He’s starving to death,” she’d plea.

“Every lactation consultant says your body knows what to make, so he’s getting it.”

After Dexter lost two pounds from his birth weight, the doctor told Blake if he wasn’t given a bottle and gained a pound within the next week, he’d call CPS on Taylor and him.

He went to the store and got formula, but he was mad at her the whole time for failing her son.

She then thought of Libby and the idea of losing a child at an early age, and she knew right then that having a controlling husband was not as bad as it could get.

* * *

It was nearly nine p.m. before she had Dexter settled and in bed. In their master bath, she eyed her body, from her face to her toes, and couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—admit the toll her marriage had taken on her. In her mind, Blake was the loving and doting man she married.

Turning on the electric toothbrush, she was in her own world when she’d rotated to see eyes seething at her, and her heart lurched. “Why the fuck can’t you answer me when I call for you?”

Turning off the switch to her toothbrush, she tried to form a smile because surely, he’d understand she couldn’t hear him over brushing her teeth, but more so, she didn’t want Dexter woken up by his loud requests.

“Sorry, babe,” she replied, placing her toothbrush down and grabbing her hairbrush. “I couldn’t hear you.”

With a loud sigh, Blake dismissed her words. Grabbing her arm closest to him, he said, “I expect you to be able to hear me when I call for you. I work; you stay at home. Believe me, you have the better part of the deal.” Changing his tone to the Blake she’d once known so well, he took her by the hands and placed her on the bed. “I was thinking; this nine o’clock bedtime of Dex’s is not working for me, Tay. I need time with you where I’m your focus, so I’ve decided no naps for Dex anymore.”

She whipped back her head and said the one thing she’d barely had the courage to say. “Nope, Blake. I need him to have a nap. This is not negotiable. Not now, not when I’m about to have another baby. And maybe, just maybe you can help me in the evenings. For shit’s sake, I’m growing your baby.” She went to walk away, but it couldn’t be that easy. Could it? Taylor wondered when his large hand grabbed her right before she made it out of the room.

* * *

Libby

When she lost Mikayla, the little baby down the street lost her mother. In the last twelve years, she foraged a friendship with Delaney Norman. She was now almost thirteen, and though Delaney was not her daughter, Libby took pride in the beautiful, kind girl she had become. Now that she didn’t need daily supervision, she treated Delaney to the fun things in life that a girl who only had her dad might not get. This consisted mostly of shopping. Delaney loved clothes with a passion, and Libby never could deny her.

She often wondered why Mark Norman never remarried after the death of his wife. He was such a good-looking man, even now at nearly forty years.

When Mark found out about the letter the previous night, he’d come over to let her off the hook from the plans she’d made with his daughter weeks ago. “No way, Mark. That girl, as she did twelve years ago, still needs me, and I need her.” Mark left knowing he couldn’t talk her out of this task and thanked her again as he always did for all she did for his daughter.

The activities around her daily routine gave her perspective when it came to her Mikayla. Perspective was certainly what Libby needed.