Chapter 8

A servant stood at my door. "Miss Armstrong wants dessert. Mr. Martin said for you to make it for her. Now."

I stared at the ceiling for a long moment. He indulged her every whim, no matter how cruel or absurd.

I sighed, a bitter taste in my mouth, and silently got out of bed.

As I passed the living room, I heard them laughing. They were watching a movie.

"That poor girl," Kylee said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Her husband is cheating on her, and his mistress is bullying her. How tragic."

Evertt murmured something soft and comforting in reply.

The sound of his voice, so gentle with her, felt like a physical blow.

I went into the kitchen and mechanically started mixing ingredients. The bruises on my wrists ached.

I placed the tiramisu in front of Kylee.

She glanced at it and pouted. "I don't feel like tiramisu anymore. I want crème brûlée."

I turned and went back to the kitchen without a word.

I heard her triumphant giggle and Evertt's low, doting murmur. I closed the kitchen door.

I brought out the crème brûlée. She changed her mind again.

This went on for over an hour. Ten different desserts. Each time, she found a reason to reject it. And all the while, Evertt sat there, watching her torment me, a gentle smile on his face.

Finally, she yawned and said she wanted the tiramisu after all.

I went back to the kitchen and prepared the first dessert again.

I placed it in front of her.

She took one small bite and spit it out dramatically. "This is disgusting! Are you trying to poison me?"

She stood up and threw the bowl at me.

Cream and cake splattered across my face and hair. A piece of mango hit my collarbone with a dull thud.

I took a deep breath, about to speak, but Evertt cut me off.

"Kylee's hormones are all over the place," he said, his tone dismissive. He looked at me, covered in dessert, with an expression of annoyance.

"Go clean yourself up."

He wrapped his arm around Kylee and led her upstairs, not looking back.

I stood alone in the living room, the sticky cream dripping down my face. The whole situation was so ridiculous, it was almost funny.

I ran the bathwater until it was scalding hot.

I scrubbed my skin until it was red and raw, trying to wash away the humiliation, the memory of his touch, the scent of her perfume.

I looked at my reflection in the water. The woman staring back was a ghost. The Helen who loved Evertt Martin was dead. She died from the lies. She died in the cold basement. She died a little more with every act of cruelty in this house.

The next morning, I dressed in simple clothes and left the house alone.

My first stop was the amusement park where Evertt had proposed. I bought a ticket but just stood at the entrance, watching the joyful crowds. Then I tore the ticket into tiny pieces and threw it in the trash.

Next, I went to the coffee shop where we had our first date. I ordered my old favorite, a caramel latte. I took one sip and pushed it away. It was too sweet. Sickeningly sweet.

Had my tastes changed, or had the memory simply soured?

I walked the familiar streets, each corner holding a memory I now had to erase.

Finally, I arrived at the temple on the mountain. The same one where I had prayed for the watch.

I climbed the stone steps, one by one.

The head monk recognized me. His eyes held a deep, knowing sadness.

"What do you pray for today, my child?" he asked.

"For myself," I replied.

He handed me a small, smooth wooden charm. "What is lost can be found again, but sometimes, what is found must be let go."

I took the charm. A sense of peace settled over me.

On the way down the mountain, I hung the new charm around my neck. I took the burnt, broken pieces of the watch from my pocket and let them scatter in the wind.

As the ashes disappeared, I felt something inside me break free.

I returned to the villa after dark. My phone screen glowed with the countdown.

One more day.

I gently touched the screen. Tomorrow, I would be free.