The Window Seat (badLuckbrides #1)

Chapter 7

Kathlyn

Two Years Ago

"Hi mom," I say, staring down at the plaque in the ground. I reach out to touch her name, tracing my fingers over each letter.

Marilyn B. Miller

Loving Wife And Mother.

"I know, I just saw you a few days ago. I can practically hear you telling me to live my life...that I visit too much." I laugh weakly, feeling the light breeze caress my cheeks. "Mom, I'm going to leave Simon. I think I've wanted to for a long time, but the only thing stopping me was that he was the last thing you knew before you left. And I was afraid that I'd never settle down again if the man I chose never got to know you."

I sniff, taking a moment to acknowledge a two parent family with two young children. Neither look distraught about being at a graveyard. They're playing a game of tag while hiding behind their parents legs, using them as shields. The father set down a bouquet of daisies before reaching for the mothers hand.

"I'm not scared anymore. The worst has already happened, right?" I ask, pausing with my eyes shut. Genuinely hoping I can hear her say something if I concentrate hard enough. Whether I'm doing the right thing, whether I'm doing the wrong thing.

And the first tear runs when I don't hear a word. Not that I really expected to, I just really needed some guidance.

That was one of the worst parts to losing my mother. I lost my best friend and word of reason. I'm completely lost.

"Can you just...give me a sign tonight that this is the right thing to do? Anything, just so that I can know you support me, or not. Please."

The little boy lets out a squeal as the father lifts him over his shoulder like a potato sack. The mother grabs hands with the young daughter and they leave together, walking down the grassy hill until they're out of my sight.

It's sad to know that my life could have been completely different. If my father never died as tragically as he did. He broke his neck one morning when he fell off a billboard. Mom always hated his job. She worried about him so much that when he finally died that day, we all sort of expected it. It was still a shock to all of us, but we all knew it was the way he was going to go.

I truly believe that if he didn't die, mom wouldn't have gotten sick. She was stressed and overworked. We were all so young. By the time Evelyn was old enough to help out by getting a job, she'd already been diagnosed.

Heart disease.

I think it was more to it than that. My dad was the love of her life, they fought a lot, but she loved him.

I always wanted a love like that. One that could kill me. And for Simon, it wasn't there anymore. I think I didn't want it to be. It hurt too much. He was a reminder that I failed. I failed our son and he never let me forget it.

I went home to a quiet house. I spent an hour or two driving around the block until I remembered he was working late tonight.

And the house was dark and empty. Cold. Foreign.

Could just be my depression, but our tiny apartment didn't feel like home since I had our son. The warmth was gone and now it was just this hopeless void I felt trapped in.

Suffocated.

Was this the sign? The feeling that home isn't here?

If home wasn't here, then where was it? It isn't back home at my mom's where Evelyn and Ashlyn still live. They don't even want to be there. It isn't the tiny shack that Simon and I used to be excited about. Is it even in Pennsylvania at all?

The coffee table is covered in Simon's latest sketches. None of them look finished and half of them have spilled onto the floor and haven't been picked up since. He'd been drawing mostly women in chains. The metal twirled around their bodies, hands shackled together. Beautiful and trapped.

I hadn't found the nerve to tell him, but it was some of his best work yet.

I sit down on the edge of the sofa, staring straight ahead at the wall of photos I hadn't taken down yet. I usually only walk past them like I do the neighbors' vicious, barking dog. The one photo Simon and I did have taken while pregnant is at the center of other smaller photos of us throughout the years. We looked in love and the small bump sticking off of my body was almost too big for both of his hands to cover.

I needed to leave. This place was as full of memories as my mothers' house was. But where would I go?

Cheap places to travel |

I clicked the link a read over the list.

There's a knock on the door that makes my phone slip from my hands, but I leave it on the ground and get up to answer it, quick. Probably just Simon. He always forgot his house key.

But to my surprise, it wasn't Simon. It was Timothy, the landlord. He held a piece of paper in his hand and a sullen look on his face.

"Hey, Tim. What are you doing here this late?"

Timothy lived on the first floor of the building. It wasn't often he came up here unless it were for inspections or an emergency issue that couldn't wait until the next day for maintenance.

"You weren't here earlier when I called a small meeting in my office, but I....I'm sorry, Kathlyn. Just..." He hands me the piece of paper, nods and leaves down the stairs, not stopping to look back at me.

My heart begins to speed up and I swallow my nerves as I go to run my eyes over the first line. Where the hell is Simon when I need him?

Dear Tenant(s),

It is with great sadness that I, Timothy Boticelli, inform you that I have sold the building to new management. The new owners wish to remodel the building from the ground up, anticipating renting out to new tenants by the following year, therefore all current tenants must remove all belongings from their units and vacate by the end of next week (Friday). I deeply apologize for the short notice and wish you all well in finding new homes.

If there is anything I can—

I didn't care about the rest. There was nothing Timothy could do for me. I'd practically be homeless by next week. I broke down right there against the front door, crying as I crumpled up the letter in my fists.