I wake up before Mr. Scott and head to the kitchen to make myself something to eat. I pop some cinnamon bread into the toaster and lean back against the island as I wait for my coffee to finish brewing. A light pinging sound draws my attention to the mud room off from the kitchen that attaches to the garage. I look around, seeing if Mr. Scott is coming, and then go to investigate.

I pass a glance over the mud room, nothing seems out of place. Shoes neatly stacked next to the door, coats hanging on the rack, but the pinging sound chimes again, and my eyes flick to the phone and keys on the table beneath the coat rack.

My heart rate picks up when I realize that Mr. Scott has left his cell phone in here. The chime rings again, and I walk over to peer down at his phone.

To my surprise, a text notification pops up on the top of the screen. I don't have to click on it to read it all. What I see is plenty.

So while I was here feeling like total shit and trying to occupy my day with sketches and mindless reality TV, he was off rutting with a woman named Jackie. Nice. Real nice. A sinking feeling settles over me, and I can't help but feel like I don't matter to him. I know it's crazy, but my hormones seem to be all over the place, and I feel a little hurt to know that he'd rather ignore me and chase skirts than acknowledge my presence and try to be somewhat cordial.

I move to turn around and head back to the kitchen, but in my haste, I run into a hard-muscled chest.

I stumble back, and his warm hands reach to steady me. "Are you all right?" he asks with a worried look on his face.

I glance down, too embarrassed at having been caught snooping. "I'm fine," I mutter.

He looks from me to the phone and then back at me. His brow raises in question, but I don't have the guts to tell him that I was reading his text message, so I sidestep and avert his gaze as I quickly make my way back to the kitchen island. I fetch my cup of coffee and toast that just popped up and make a break for it.

I can feel his eyes on me as I take my plate and coffee mug and turn my back to him as I walk to the sunroom. It's become my favorite room, and I love eating breakfast there. The birds are always out and about, and the squirrels will be moving around, collecting food to store in their little nooks and crannies they've got stashed in trees around the yard.

I hear his phone chime again, the sound of him swiping open to his home screen, but I don't stop to turn back and see his accusatory glance in my direction. No, the last thing I need is for him to scold me for snooping or try to explain what it is that I saw. He doesn't owe me an explanation, and as long as I continue to remember my place here, things won't get uncomfortable between us.

I'm just a womb for hire. Nothing more. Nothing less. Don't forget it.

* * *

I snatch up my phone and look down at the text Jackie sent.

Shit!

I knew when I walked into the mudroom that something was wrong. She looked like I had caught her doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing. When I saw my phone on the table behind her, I figured she had been snooping. But I had no idea she had seen something that I would have rather she hadn't.

The fact that I have a friend with benefits is something that I would have liked to keep hidden from Ms. Murphy. I don't know why, but I don't want her to mistake our arrangement for anything more than what it is, a business transaction. And her becoming involved with my private life blurs the lines between personal and professional a little more than I'm comfortable with.

I shoot Jackie a quick text, letting her know that I'll be unavailable for the next few weeks. After getting a not so gentle nudge from Abbi the other day, I called my secretary and had her schedule me some time off. Abbi was right, though; I do need to take a more hands-on approach with this endeavor. I can't expect Ms. Murphy to respect me if I don't extend the same curtesy and take some time off to help her through the first stages.

I allow a few minutes to pass before I make my way into the sunroom. I've avoided this room after Sophia died. She used to come in here at night and read until she fell asleep in her overstuffed chair. A memory of the day she found that chair in a furniture store passes through my mind. She was so excited. She plopped down in that chair, legs curled under her, and her head thrown back against the plush pillow lining the headrest. I close my eyes and inhale deeply as the sound of her soft laughter accosts my memories.

"Are you all right?"

My eyes snap open, and the memory abruptly ceases. Ms. Murphy is staring at me with a concerned expression. Her mismatched eyes narrowing suspiciously. I nod and gently clear my throat, unexpected emotion causing me to feel as if I'm choking. "Yes, quite fine," I mumble before taking a seat on the very chair that brought back a rush of unwanted memories.

Sipping my coffee and staring out at the backyard, I allow her to grow comfortable with my presence before striking up conversation. It hasn't escaped my notice that she grows awkwardly tense whenever I enter the same room as her. It's an effect that I'm oddly uncomfortable with provoking. As odd as our circumstances are, I want her to feel at ease in my presence. We've a long and tumultuous time together ahead of us. It's imperative that she grow to trust me. Confide in me. And if I can bring myself to allow it, form a bond with.

As formal as I've tried to make this situation, I don't have the misconception that this experience won't draw us close. As it should. It's just my reticence to allow anyone through my protective barrier that I'm at odds with. Not her. Not this situation. The tension between us lies solely at my feet.

It's at this moment that I reconcile myself to making the best of this situation we've found ourselves in.

"I need to apologize."

Her eyes take on a curious slant, but she doesn't comment. She just nods, urging me to continue.

I run my hand through my hair and then lean forward, elbows braced on my knees, head lowered, and eyes locked onto the distant past as I allow myself to sink into faded memories. "I'm no good at this. Telling my truths. Allowing people into my circle." I shake my head and release a dark chuckle. "Hell, I'm not good at being around people period ... anymore." The last word comes out as a muffled admission. Guilt lacing my confession.

"Neither am I." At her whispered words, my head rises and our gazes meet.

A bolt of unexplainable emotion rushes through my body, causing me to visibly shudder.

I frown, the muscles in my face tensing. I realize what it is that bothered me about her since we first met.

Vulnerability. Softness. Innocence. Hurt. Yet––she glows with hope.

She's everything I'm not. She's everything I've lost.

Her mismatched eyes are a spiraling abyss of loss and pain, but beyond the darkness shines a beacon of light that glitters throughout––casting iridescent shades of sky blue and rich moss green. Like slivers of glass scattered over sand, she shines like a diamond in the bleakness that surrounds her.

* * *

The way he looks at me ... it's like he sees through me. Straight through to my very soul. I shuffle in my seat and break the trancelike gaze we share.

"I want us to be friends. I think it would be easier to endure what we're about to go through if we were," I say; my eyes land everywhere but on him. I don't know why, but he makes me nervous when he focuses his attention solely on me.

He inhales deeply and releases it slowly before responding. Still, my gaze lingers around the room. "I agree. So let’s begin with a few truths. Shall we?"

My eyes pop to his, completely caught off guard by his suggestion. My trembling hands settle under my thighs, and I rock nervously back and forth in my seat. I begin to chew on my bottom lip, a nervous gesture that I can't contain under the current circumstances.

Truths ... he has no idea what he's asking me. No idea that my very existence here is one big fat lie. Would he look at me with disdain if I broke down and told him everything? Would he kick me to the curb if I revealed I was still married to a monster who hid behind the uniform of the law?

I mentally chastise myself ... it's not worth it. It's not worth risking my escape from the hellish existence I've endured for the better part of my life. This is my ticket to freedom. My escape to a future without brutality. I will not let him take it from me just to give him a semblance of friendship with me. No, this is my life, and I'm finally taking control.

So I tell him my carefully crafted lie, laced with small truths. It's the most I can give him right now. Because if I were to tell him my full story, I'd lose the only ticket on my train to a new and brighter future.

"I grew up in a small town in North Carolina ...” I start with the biggest truth of all. My beginning, but not my end.

He nods and gestures for me to continue.

"My dad worked at a local factory. He was a welder and made good enough money for us to live a comfortable middle-class lifestyle." My eyes flick to his and then back down to my hands, which are now twisting nervously together over my lap. "My mom was a secretary at the local doctor’s office. She dropped her hours to part time after I was born." I smile. The thought of her brings a warmth to my chest, followed by fond memories of a time when things weren't so complicated. A time when love was prevalent, and I had a family that cherished me. "They had trouble conceiving because my mother was sick as a child ... leukemia."

I sigh. The thought of what she went through as a child saddening me. "She and my dad were high school sweethearts. They got married right out of school and five years later, had me." A timid smile pulls at the corners of my lips. I stare out the window and get lost in my story. The one of my parents and the deep love they shared. It's a truth I don't mind sharing because it's the only one I have that is pure and untainted.

"My mom was great, but when I entered kindergarten, she began to get sick." My eyes bulge with the oncoming tears I fight to contain. Memories of her too weak to get out of bed, constantly throwing up, and struggling to breathe flood my mind.

I sniffle, wiping at a tear with the back of my hand. "The cancer came back. But this time, it was in her lungs and eventually spread to her lymph nodes. She fought so hard for so long. I think she was trying to hang on until she thought I was old enough to cope without her." I hiccup on a sob, my words coming out sounding strangled.

"But you're never really able to cope ... are you?" I look up at him, desperately seeking solace in his gaze. He shakes his head, sorrow etched in his dignified features. "She was gone by the time I was thirteen."

I lower my head to my hands and sob quietly. It's the first time I've ever told anyone that story. Jay never cared enough to listen. He always said I needed to let it go, but until this very moment, I never realized that in order to let it go, I had to say the words I had long denied.

"It's my fault. My fault she hung on for so long. She knew my dad wouldn't handle it well, and she tried to be strong for so long––too long." At this realization, I lose control and give in to the grief––the pain––the reality of a life cut too short.

I'm startled when warm arms engulf me, pulling me into their strength and wrapping me in a comforting embrace. Of their own accord, my arms go around him, and I press my cheek against the hard planes of his chest. My tears fall like a stream down my face and onto the fabric of his shirt, soaking him to the skin, but he doesn't pull back, and for that small act of kindness, I'm eternally thankful.

"Sophia was killed in a car crash. Her death was so sudden that I've never really moved past it. It's difficult ... moving past it. Looking beyond the grief." He falls silent, and at that moment, more passes between us than words.

With his arms wrapped firmly around me, we comfort each other. It's a feeling unlike anything I've experienced before now. The weight constantly pressing down on my chest when I think of my mother––eases. The heartache I feel when I think of my life and how different it would have been had she not died––dulls, just enough to become bearable.

He holds me like that for what seems like hours. But eventually we shift apart and come face to face with the naked truth ... attraction lingers in the air around us. A pull greater than gravity sparks to life, and the realization of awareness is written as clearly across his face as it is on my own.

He makes his excuses to leave, and I make mine, and as quickly as the moment began, it's over.