“Nothing,” is what actually comes out. I toss my purse on the counter as I normally do and set off towards the stairs. “I am just going to take a pill and climb into bed.”

“Clove.” His voice startles me as I begin to ascend. “Wait a second, Clove.”

He wraps his arms around me from behind. Thank God he cannot see my face because I feel tears starting to well up in my eyes again.

“I’ll be right down here if you need anything, so just holler, okay?”

He kisses the top of my head and squeezes me just a little tighter before releasing me.

I really have to get my act together or he is going to catch on to the fact that I know he is an impostor. I continue up the stairs and enter my bedroom, softly closing the door. A calmness settles in my heart when I notice my wedding picture sitting on the dresser.

I draw nearer and run my hands over Turner’s face. Tears of both outrage and pain relentlessly fall as I look down at him, blurring my vision. Covering my mouth for fear that Trent will hear me, I just stand there and stare at the man I love, wondering what he must be feeling right now. If he knows what is going on, he must be as scared to death for me as I am for him.

“I am so in love with you, Turner Calloway,” I whisper.

I scrutinize the picture that was taken on the best day of my life and study the features I know so well. It’s remarkable how identical the two of them truly do look. The more I stare, the angrier I become, and the more determined I am to get to the bottom of this nightmare.

Pulling my glance away from the picture, my gaze drifts over to Turner’s closet. With slow steps I enter and I am surrounded by the strong smell of my man.

I fumble my way through all of his clothes, desperate to find the shirt I am looking for. I toss clothes all over the floor until I find the dark blue shirt that we bought for him on our honeymoon. I bring the shirt up to my nose and sniff, triggering my tears again. I slip down to my knees, crying and rocking myself back and forth on his closet floor.

I have never been so scared of anything in all of my life. I need him, and he needs me. We belong together. There is no fucking way I am going to let anyone take him away from me. Sitting on my knees for God knows how long surrounded by all things Turner, I vow to him and to myself that I will find him and bring him home where he belongs.

  Even though it’s the beginning of summer and warm outside, I remove my clothes and change into a pair of sweats and Turner’s t-shirt. Right now the thought of my skin touching his makes my body shudder. I feel as if I am going to suffocate. The information I need to find Turner lies within the man downstairs; it’s only a matter of time before he is going to want to touch me again and I am going to have to let him. If I don’t, I may never see my husband again.

Can I actually do this now that I know the truth? I thought my husband was having an affair; never in my wildest dreams could I ever have imagined the real reason he was acting so differently. More guilt and shame eat away at me for doubting my Turner at all.

I feel somehow disconnected from my mind, body, and soul as I try and separate my old reality from the nightmare happening all around me. Turner is everywhere in this house, in our bedroom, and in this bed. This bed where I have slept with another man. How long am I going to be stuck in this never-ending cycle of deceit?

Curling myself up in a ball, I lay there in the dark and wonder where my husband is. Is he safe? Alive? He has to be alive. I close my eyes and picture my brave man and pray that wherever he is, he knows how much I love him and that everything I have to do is because he’s everything to me.

I believe in soul mates, and Turner is and always will be mine, even if this destroys us. But then I realize that it doesn’t matter what I say or do, now. I am never going to be able to forgive myself, and Turner is never going to look at me the same way again. He is never going to want me, knowing someone else has had me. Our lives are ruined, and for what?

Even though my back is to the bedroom door, I feel Trent standing in the doorway. Staying as still as possible so that he thinks I am sleeping, I lay there and wait for him to climb into bed. When he does, I still don’t move.

Please don’t touch me. Not yet.

But he does. He moves closer to me and wraps his arms around me, tucking himself in close. I don’t want to acknowledge his presence but I can’t risk tipping him off.

“Hey,” I murmur.

“Hey, sweetheart. You feeling better?” he says softly.

“Not really.”

And it’s the truth.

“I’m sorry. I wish I knew what to do to make you feel better.”

“You know the only thing that makes me feel better when I get these headaches is sleep, Turner,” I sigh.

He lets out a frustrated breath and loosens his hold from around my waist. I can smell the alcohol on his breath and with his arms around me and that smell, my gut starts churning and I actually feel like I could really be sick.

Pushing all those thoughts back and curling into his touch, I close my eyes knowing that I won’t feel better until I have my husband’s arms around me, not the arms of a stranger. A stranger who scares me, a man I have a feeling will kill my husband and me if he ever finds out what I know.

Chapter Six

There’s a strange feeling of weight on my chest when I wake up. Some is from the arm draped across me, pinning me to Trent’s side. The biggest weight comes from that of regret, hurt, anger, and sadness.

It’s Saturday, and knowing I have to spend the next two days alone with this man repulses me. Needing to get up and use the bathroom, I gently lift his arm off of me. I don’t really want to wake him; he may want me to come back to bed with him and I am just not ready to play the part of his doting wife yet.

Tiptoeing into the bathroom and locking the door, I turn on the shower as hot as I can. After using the toilet I shimmy out of my clothes, and as I lift the shirt over my head and it glides over my face, I am assaulted with the smell of Turner. His fresh, clean sent reminds me of what lies ahead.

I inhale deeply one last time before I pull it the rest of the way over my head and drop it to the floor. I step under the hot spray; picking up the soap, I scrub my body from head to toe trying to erase the smell of the sick asshole who is lying in my bed.

I don’t even realize how hard I am actually scrubbing until a sharp sting on my arm causes me to look down and notice that my arm is turning the brightest shade of red. I immediately stop, letting the soap slip out of my grasp.

I place my hands over my face as I lean my head back, turning my attention to my hair. I give it the same treatment, using more shampoo than necessary and washing, rinsing, and repeating three damn times. I turn and let the hot spray pound on my chest as if to wash away all the pain of my bleeding and tortured heart.

The minute I step out of the shower and start to dry myself off, though, I realize that I forgot to grab clothes to put on. I curse under my breath.

Having to walk into the bedroom to collect my clothes means having to walk out with just my towel wrapped around me. I stand and stare at the handle of the door for several minutes and hope like hell that Trent is still sleeping. I can do this. I have to do this- there isn’t any other way around it.

Opening the door as quietly as I can and not looking at the bed, I tiptoe over to my closet and grab the first pair of shorts and shirt that I can find. Making my way over to my dresser, I do the same thing with my bra and panties.

“If I could wake up every morning and see my beautiful wife standing there looking sexy as hell, I would be one hell of a lucky man.”