Bad Memory

~An Understanding~

To say I wasn't handling Lillian's death well was an understatement.
Most days, I had to force myself out of bed. Not because I was sleeping, though. I just laid awake, replaying every memory of Lillian on repeat. Having our dolls got to war as soon as my nanny stopped watching us. Crying on her shoulder while she stroked my hair after my brother's death. Sneaking out to the forest the day before her Binding Ceremony and promising that no matter what happened, we would be together forever.

The weight of that promise was unbearable now.

It wasn't my fault. She, like so many others, had simply succumbed to the parasite. But I still felt responsible. I didn't know if I ever made it to her that night, and it seemed as though I never would. Anytime I finally started falling asleep, her unanswered sobs would echo in my head and wake me back up.

Fortunately, Ezra let me stay in my study overnight, so he didn't know how bad my insomnia had gotten. Our interactions were limited to dinner, and Ezra didn't really say anything beyond complimenting my cooking.

I was glad that at least someone was enjoying my meals. When I tried to eat, food turned to ash in my mouth. I had lost weight, but again, Ezra didn't seem to notice. It wasn't a surprise considering that we barely saw each other.

Instead, I spent all my time with my Watcher and maid. Watchers were retired military who protected "high-value targets" like general's wives. They were too old for combat but still lethal enough to eliminate most threats. My father had recommended one named Paul to Ezra, and Paul had offered his wife, Ruth, to serve as our maid. When Ezra agreed to hire the couple, they moved into the cottage next door. But even though they moved in before I was released from the hospital, Ezra had insisted that they give us time and space before introducing us.

When Ezra returned to work, though, it was like living in a haunted house. Ruth and Paul were always watching, but never talking....to me at least. They spoke to each other plenty but fell silent whenever I got close enough to hear. They also had an uncanny habit of suddenly appearing. Paul, in particular, was so quiet that I would lose track of him only to have him spring up when I least expected it.

It had been almost three weeks now, and I was starting to believe I would spend the rest of my life feeling lonely yet never alone.

"See you tonight," Ezra told me as he grabbed the lunch I had made him. I looked up from my spot on the living room couch but didn't respond.

Once I saw his truck drive out of sight, I launched into cleaning. Ruth, as always, warned me that cleaning could be bad for any baby growing inside me; I had to bite* my tongue to resist saying there was no chance of that. I didn't want to get myself in trouble for not fulfilling my marital duties, even though Ezra was the one who refused me.

Bottles spritzed, rags squeaked, the mop splashed. I lost myself in the music of cleaning until a loud knock broke my rhythm.

Ignoring it, I continued to scrub a stubborn stain on a casserole dish. Paul was supposed to send everyone away. So I was startled when I looked up and found a guest in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Mother?"

My mother strode into the room flanked by her Watcher, Jeremiah. She took in the scene before her: me with a messy ponytail, blotches of water staining my baggy shirt, hunched over the kitchen sink. Quite the contrast from her meticulously made-up face, ironed floral dress, and elegant up-do.

"What are you doing?" she asked, horrified.

"Dishes."

She frowned. "Do you not have a maid for that?"

"She does," Ruth chimed in from the corner of the room, probably thrilled that someone had finally called me out on doing her job. I glared at her.

"I'd like to speak to my daughter alone," my mother announced, which prompted Jeremiah, Ruth, and Paul to file out of the room. The second it was just us, my mother spun me around from the sink