Back to Me (Book Three ✓)

forty-two

The lake house has a top of the line security system. I know this. That's why I've been so very careful.

Emma's condo doesn't have such a system. Just private security out front, all of whom, seem to be taking their breaks.

Maybe not their breaks. But they aren't here.

That's enough for me.

Using a couple of pins and pressing my ear to the door, I pop the lock and sneak through the entryway, checking to make sure no one saw me before I close the door.

Her condo is tidy. Everything has a spot. Her TV is off, dust accumulating over the screen.

Ah, yes. I wipe a finger across the smooth surface, inspecting the particles on my finger tip closely. Because Emma has two homes.

This one simply hasn't been lived in recently.

I find my way to the kitchen, opening drawers slowly, letting them pull shut with loud thuds. I open her fridge, noticing the mostly empty space, and close it just as quickly.

Faced with its door, my eyes roam the surface, spotting Emma's smile in every photo taped down.

So many friends. I reach out to touch a photo, my finger lingering in the air. So many smiles.

With a sigh, I continue my pursuit around the home. Pivoting on the ball of my foot, like a ballerina on stage, I glance around the rest of the kitchen, my gaze falling suddenly on a heavy, wooden butchers block.

I cock my head to the side, a number of ideas dancing in my mind.

Slowly pulling a knife from the wood, the blade making a metallic whirring sound as I do, I catch my reflection in the evil glint off the metal.

It halts me in my tracks, but just momentarily. Then, my fingers wrap around the smooth handle.

I've held one of these before, cooking, making meals. It feels different now.

I take it with me, letting the tip trail behind me as I walk up the stairs, scratching the pretty banister.

Each step happens without my control, my limbs numb, my movements mechanical and involuntary.

As I wander about the house, making myself familiar in Emma's space, I let my thoughts drift.

To the past, the things I have no ability to change. The present, so unyielding and hard. The future - the one I don't have.

The one I can see so clearly surrounding me now.

I use the tip of the blade to push open the first door in the hallway.

A sneak-peak showed me the finished nursery at the lake house.

Creamy yellow walls with little clouds and bumblebees giving the space a happy ambiance, the furniture, a lovely bassinet and matching crib, a dresser and changing table, bookshelves and stools and even a day bed, are all perfectly white and sturdily built.

I wonder if this condo has a similar set up.

I peer around the door to see Emma's bedroom, not a nursery.

Not able to help myself, my feet bring me forward anyways until the front of my legs press into the side of her bed frame.

I run my fingers over her quilt.

This is where she sleeps. Where they sleep. Where she'll nurse their child.

The thought does nothing to deter me. It's like a cold slap in the face, but not the sobering kind.

Too many disjointed trains of thought drive themselves through my mind, leaving me breathless and dazed.

Stumbling on my feet, I leave the bedroom and come to another door on the right. A bathroom.

I look long enough to see how clean it is, how tidy. How perfectly put together. And then I move on. Lazily, in no rush at all.

The next door is to a guest room. Popping the door open, I suck in another, shaky breath.

A second nursery, because one is not enough for the lovely mother to be.

This one has one wall bathed in sweet orange paint, the others a light cream color. Warm tones make it homey, the wall paintings illustrating scenes of woodland creatures in the forest.

Finding myself in the center of the room, a slow smile spreads over my lips. What a lovely place to raise a child.

Turning over my shoulder, my grin fades immediately, replaced with a deep emptiness.

A little photo frame, atop the dresser. Emma and Beau stare back at me, a sonogram tucked into the corner.

I cross the room quickly, snatching the sonogram in my fist and crumpling it immediately. I turn the frame photo-side down on the dresser and take a step back.

That's better.

Settling into a comfortable rocking chair, set up with a corresponding stool, I use my toes to push myself back and forth. Sticking the knife into the arm of the chair, I close my eyes, letting the rhythmic rocking steady my sporadic heartbeat.

This will do - I think to myself, mind fuzzy with exhaustion - This will do quite nicely.

my loves - it is up to you to tell me whose POV this chapter was! 👀

thoughts? I have never had to write a chapter like this! what's gonna happen next?

remember to vote if you enjoyed, every one means the most to me ❤️