Chapter 34 - The Husband I Buried

Then

When I first noticed something was wrong, it didn’t feel dangerous.

It felt inconvenient.

Like a patch. Something we could iron out if we took the time to.

Luis started coming home later than usual. He always had a reason. A problem at the office. A meeting that ran long. Someone who needed him. One drink that turned into two. ‘Sorry,’ he’d say, kissing my cheek, already distracted. ‘I lost track of time.’

I believed him. At least, I wanted to. But there was always something, just outside of my consciousness, that stopped me.

We were still good. Better than good. When we were together, we only had eyes for each other. We still slept tangled together, limbs overlapping like we were afraid the other might slip away if we let go. On weekends we stayed in bed too long, sunlight creeping across the walls while we talked about everything and nothing.

But sometimes, when his phone buzzed, he’d turn it face down without thinking. It was a small thing. Easy to rationalize. Everyone needed privacy. But I couldn’t shake the feeling there was something he wasn’t telling me. Something I should know.

I remembered Luis telling me he loved me, the same night he’d said he was good at walking away. He’d said he’d never walk away from me, but maybe that was just a line. Maybe he knew he’d walk away one day. Disappear out of my life.

Around that time he started asking more questions too, mostly about my work. Not the kind he used to ask, curious. Proud. But sharper. More strategic than interested.

‘Do you ever worry,’ he said once, swirling wine in his glass – we’d just finished dinner – ‘about the people you defend?’

I laughed. ‘That’s kind of the job.’

‘I mean morally,’ he pressed. ‘Do you ever feel like you’re protecting the wrong people?’

I studied him. ‘You don’t usually talk like this.’

He smiled, quick and charming. ‘Just thinking out loud.’

‘Everyone deserves a chance to prove their innocence,’ I answered, starting to clear plates. I’d told him this once before, and I still believed it.

He threw his napkin down on his plate as I whisked it away, swallowing a mouthful of steak. ‘You don’t need to handle everything yourself,’ he said, looking for something to wipe his hands on.

I tossed him the napkin he’d discarded. ‘Well, you’re never here in time to help with dinner, and the dishes need clearing, so I’m clearing them,’ I retorted.

‘That’s the problem,’ he said. ‘You didn’t even ask if I was finished.’

‘Are you finished?’ I asked, sarcastically.

He wiped his hands and threw the napkin back on the plate. ‘I am now.’

I took the dishes into the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher, careful not to place them in too hard in case they chipped.

When I returned to the kitchen, Luis was still seated. ‘You spend plenty of time at the office too,’ he said.

I bristled. ‘I defend people who would be spending their lives in jail, Luis,’ I said.

He looked hurt, and I knew what he was thinking. That I thought my job was more important. That if I spent extra time at the office, it was because it was meaningful.

‘I know.’ His voice was calm. Tired. ‘But it’s always about your cases and clients. You don’t leave room for anyone else.’

I snapped then, sharp and immediate. ‘You knew who I was when you married me. You used to like that about me.’

Something flickered in his eyes. Not anger. Assessment. ‘I just thought eventually you’d ease off a little and make time,’ he said. ‘For us.’

I scooped up the salad and left the room. Why was I justifying my office time when he was the one who’d come home late again?

Later, he apologized. He always did. He was good at it, but it didn’t have the same effect anymore. Tomorrow, he’d probably come home even later, the stench of beer lingering underneath his cologne.

I awoke that night and found the covers on his side of the bed pulled back. Luis was gone.

I lay there quietly, waiting for him to return, but I waited long enough that I drifted back to sleep. The next morning, his side of the bed was still empty, and he’d left a pack of my favorite bagels in the kitchen with a note.

Had to go in early. Love you.

He’d even written it on fancy stationery. Black embossed card with white ink. Like a chalkboard.

The worst part was how good we were when things were good, and how much we could hurt each other when they weren’t.

When Luis wanted me, he wanted only me. His attention was consuming. Intoxicating. It made the doubts feel small and petty by comparison.

I didn’t want to be the kind of woman who nitpicked happiness to death.

So, when I was at work one afternoon, going through some files, and I found Luis’s name in our system, I told myself it was nothing to worry about.

When Elizabeth waved it off, saying it was a misunderstanding, a business matter that had already been resolved, I chose to believe her.

Because believing meant I didn’t have to look closer and risk losing the thing I was most afraid to lose.

Later, lying beside Luis in the dark, his hand resting possessively on my waist, I wondered – not for the first time – whether love was supposed to feel this tight.

This consuming.

Or whether I was mistaking suffocation for love.

At the time, I pushed the thought away.

Some imperfections, I told myself, were just the cost of loving deeply.

It never occurred to me they were the first warnings that something was very wrong.