Everything I believed, everything I held on to was a lie…

Except her. She’s my only truth—Cal

One Day Later…

Lauren

“Why the hell are you crying, Lauren? This is going to fix everything!” His voice feels like razors cutting through me, fury erupting from him. He’s angrier than I’ve ever seen him but what scares me is how casual he’s treating this, as if holding a gun to a man’s head is normal. His hands aren’t trembling, his voice isn’t shaking, and he’s not acting scared but excited. He’s going to kill him.

When I wake, my heart is in my throat demanding to be let out. My entire body trembles, replaying what happened a few hours ago, as I lie wrapped up in Cal’s body. I’m so scared of losing him, of losing Chris and I just don’t know if they can handle what’s happening. How does anyone handle knowing that they killed their mother, holding that secret inside that has been engrained in their mind? How does anyone let go of the hatred that has been motivating them year after year? Mr. Rice has agreed not to press charges. Apparently it was in some agreement he signed with Dexter Sr. all those years ago, but the least of my worries was Cal going to jail. My worry is of him getting lost. He hasn’t said a word since we pulled him out of that house.

After Lisa dropped the bomb on us and Chris shut down, I thought that was the worst of it, because what could top that? But hearing from Mr. Scott about how they came about adopting Chris, learning that Dexter Sr. is really Cal’s biological father, and how his mother tricked her own son into killing her because of some twisted Medea complex broke me. I’m terrified of what all of this is doing to the man I love. I know the body lying next to mine well, but I don’t know who will wake up next to me. It’s not Cal, it’s not Chris, and I can’t even say it is Collin. Collin is an entirely different story, another persona that I met briefly. He seemed to come out of nowhere, but I’d even take him making an appearance right about now if only he would just wake up. At this moment, my husband’s on autopilot, I don’t know who’s in there, and I’m even more terrified that it will be someone I don’t know.

I haven’t said anything to him yet because I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know how he will come back from this, and more importantly, I don’t know who to talk to for help. Now knowing the truth that Dexter Jr. is actually Cal’s brother not his uncle-in-law. Did he know this all along? Mr. Scott knew this whole time because apparently he is the master when it comes to keeping secrets. Though I can’t blame him totally since Mr. Crestfield had him sign a non-disclosure agreement, and he said not even Gwen knew the relationship between her own son and Dexter Sr. Though he claimed to be different from Dexter Sr., it seems they have a lot of the same traits.

Still, I shudder to think what my husband would have been like if his biological father had raised him. I nestle my head in the space between his head and shoulder. I bite my lip from saying anything out loud to him each time he tosses his body and instead hold him closer to me. I close my eyes and thank God for letting him be here with me and for allowing me to comfort him during his time of need.

Suddenly I feel a jolt so hard that it makes my eyes shoot open, and I have to suppress my scream. It’s so quick and forceful that I’m almost thrown from the mattress, but I don’t let a sound escape my mouth. I squint my eyes open and see him sitting up but only for a few seconds before he falls back down on the mattress, his eyes closed the entire time, as if he’s not even awake but dreaming.

I cover my mouth to stop the whimper that’s trying to escape. I move to the edge of the bed to plant my feet on the floor, and I put my head between my legs to slow down my racing heart and catch my breath.

We’re going to come back from this. We’re going to come back from this.

I keep reciting this to myself, but still can’t stop the whimpers and sobs fighting to escape. I jump quickly from the bed and run out of our room before he can hear me. He seems to be in a semiconscious sleep, and I don’t want him to see that I’m scared, that I’m terrified about this place we’re in now. I sit outside the door and lean back with my knees to my chest not willing to be too far if he calls for me. I cry hard and ugly for the first time since Cal left me those years ago.

He’s here now, he’s not gone.

“Lauren? Are you ok?” I look up after wiping the tears that are blurring my vision and see Mr. Scott. He looks awful—an emotional mess from the fallout of the bomb dropped—but I don’t say anything and try to appear to not be an emotional mess.

“I’m fine, I just…” I don’t even know what to say. The reason he’s here in this house is the same reason my husband is broken. If Cal or Chris were present, he wouldn’t have been allowed to cross the threshold. I fought with my conscious the entire time to accept his help. Knowing how much his son despises him and wouldn’t want him anywhere near him, I felt guilty but had to call for help not knowing what would have happened if I didn’t. A tiny part of myself was glad to have someone else here so that I wasn’t alone. I won’t say that I can trust him, but I know he loves my husband as much as I do.

“I can keep watch if you want to go to sleep,” his voice is calm and void of the bitterness and resentment his tone used to hold toward me.

“Keep watch for what? You don’t think he’d do anything to himself, do you?” I ask almost offended. Cal or Chris would never ever think about…

“No, but just in case he needs anything.”

“No, I want to be here if he calls me,” I tell him adamantly. He only nods before turning to go back down the stairs, but then he stops, turning his body halfway toward me.

“Thank you for calling me,” he says solemnly. I only nod, and there’s an awkward stretch of silence that lies between us. He stands there, not moving but looking blankly at the wall. I don’t know what to say to him, nothing that will make this better. I want to get up and yell, and scream, and hit him in the chest. I want to ask him if all of the secrets and lies were worth it, but I know that won’t make things better for anyone, and I know that anything I’d say to him is probably running through his mind already.

“Good night Mr. Scott.” I make myself comfortable where I’ll be sleeping for the rest of the night. He nods slightly before mumbling the same and making his way downstairs.

When I wake I’m no longer on the floor but in my bed, and my heart leaps. How did I get in here, did he put me in here… who he is, isn’t even clear to myself. Cal, Chris, Collin, Mr. Scott, a mystery man who has yet to make an appearance? I cautiously get out of bed looking for clues to my husband's state of mind. I should have known he’d be up before me as he always has been no matter which identity he took on. I check the bathroom that is empty, and the balcony is too. My heart beats rapidly as I make my way out of the bedroom. I’m afraid to leave the sanctuary of this room. If Cal is in the house with Mr. Scott still here, I don’t know what type of scene I’m going to walk into. I take the cowardly way out and check the rooms on the second floor, which are all, empty and then gather up my courage to make my way downstairs. It’s eerily quiet, and my heart stops when I see his tall, lean body leaning up against the island in the middle of our kitchen. He’s turned the opposite way so I can’t see his face.

But if he were facing my way, would I know who it was? Could I tell them apart? My brain feels like that old commercial with the fried egg in the pan. Am I awake or is this a dream? Maybe this is a nightmare, and Mr. Scott is tied up in the closet? I wish I could say the plausibility of that happening is ridiculous but after everything that’s happened, it isn’t. I let out a small breath and swallow my nerves.

“Hey.” It’s simple and sounds pathetic to my own ears but it’s all I can muster with my heart galloping as it is. He doesn’t turn around but motions his head as if to say come beside him. Before I move, I scrutinize the man in front of me—his posture, his breathing, the way he is dressed—anything for a clue as to who he is. The fact that he’s not paralyzed to the bed is a good thing, I hope. I remind my legs that their purpose is to carry my weight because for a moment it’s as if they’ve forgotten. After what seems like a mile, I stand beside him resting my own weight on the island. For a moment I’m scared to look at him, afraid to see who is or isn’t standing next to me. Whoever it is still causes my heart to speed up, still makes me light-headed, and when he moves behind me and I feel his skin against mine, it still makes me breathless. His fingers run up my thighs and I know this is Cal. Cal is here with me. No one’s touch makes me feel like this.

His hands slide up and across my stomach instead of between my legs, and his lips make their way to the crook of my neck. He rests his head there and squeezes me tightly. I’m feeling unsure, but it doesn’t stop me from crossing my arms across my body to hold on to him. When I feel his body starting to tremble and his grip lessens on me, I turn and see tears coming from his eyes. I grab onto him and hold him—his weight almost pulling me down—but I use all of my strength to hold him up as his cries shake us both.

“I’m so sorry baby,” he painfully says, his sorrow rocking us both.

“Please don’t apologize,” I tell him as we sink to the floor. I climb on top of him and cradle his head against me, as he keeps repeating how sorry he is. I rub his back and hold him as close as I can.

“We’re going to be okay. I promise you.” I can feel his sorrow, his pain, his regret, and his helplessness. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s never shown me any weakness, but I’m so grateful that he is finally opening up to me instead of running—instead of hiding it. I vow to myself for every moment he’s weak that I will be strong. The thoughts I had earlier of not being able to handle this, of being afraid, are gone. He’s always been my strength, and it’s time for me to be his. We will get through this. I’ve always wanted him to be my Prince Charming, but today—if it has to be every day from this day forward—I’ll be his superhero.