Two Truths and a Lie

Chapter 26

(As I've mentioned before...

6 years later. Also,

TW: Suggestion of Abuse)

It's 1797 now and my life hasn't got better nor worse. My husband and I still argue, he still...is my husband. The only difference is that I'm moving to America, well moved to America.

I just got here.

Standing at the port, I have my bags in hand and I feel like I could be happy in America. I'm closer to my sisters and I know I can count on them to be there. With my husband working for America's government, he shouldn't be at home too much and that's great for me, especially since it's only him and I now.

Phillip is 19 and going to college, so I'm stuck in a house with my husband every day of the week. It isn't bad for the least part; I have three new bruises on my arms, but they are currently being covered by the sleeves on my coat.

My scars stopped hurting; however they are still visible, yet surprisingly haven't been noticed by my husband; (and let's keep it that way).

When I told Martha I was going back, she seemed so disappointed; I tried to tell her that I'd be fine and that this was an opportunity to move as well. But she stated that she would wait to discuss it in person with her husband when he was coming back the next month.

It's been 8 months since then and we haven't really talked, but I know Martha and she's probably just going through life as usual and occasionally annoying her husband for me.

I look above the port and the people to see a crowded city that eventually disperses into quiet streets.

Just like London, but better. Here I have my sisters.

"Mom, what's this?"

I hope I didn't speak too soon.

My son comes up to me with papers in his hand and he looks worried. Well, more worried then usual.

"It has Uncle Alexander's name on it. Something about an affair."

What?!

"Phillip, can I see that?"

I look over the the multiple pieces of paper and can realize that this is definitely the work of Alexander's.

My hands start shaking, my heart sinks to my stomach, and I feel like hitting something. At first, I suspected it was something about him and I those few years ago, but realized there would be no point telling the public about something that happened once.

So I keep reading and see it's about someone else he had an affair with...around the same time him and I...

"That b****rd." I mutter as I continue to read the rest.

...I replied that he knew best what evidence he had of the alleged connection between me and his wife, that I neither admitted nor denied it—that if he knew of any injury I had done him, intitling him to satisfaction, it lay with him to name it.

He travelled over the same ground as before, and again concluded with the same vague claim of satisfaction, but without specifying the kind, which would content him. It was easy to understand that he wanted money, and to prevent an explosion, I resolved to gratify him. But willing to manage his delicacy, if he had any, I reminded him that I had at our first interview made him a promise of service, that I was disposed to do it as far as might be proper, and in my power, and requested him to consider in what manner I could do it, and to write to me. He withdrew with a promise of compliance...

By the time I skim over the last pages, my mind was racing of what to do then it hits me.

"Eliza..."