All Chapters of I Tried To Be A Good Girl, But My Past Won’t Stay Burried: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

"Another whiskey!" I yelled at the bartender, waving my glass like a distress signal. Lia was beside me, already pink-cheeked and blinking too slow to keep up. Lightweight. "You know that asshole always had a bad temper!" I went on, my voice rising with every syllable. "He told me to get out! Me! If I had stayed, I'd be spineless! Why should I even have to leave my place and lose my deposit? You know how much extra it is for a wheelchair-accessible apartment? What right does he have to ask me to leave? Why can't he go away?!" "He's laid up in bed and still acting up like that," Lia said, swirling her drink. "I'll pay someone to carry him out tomorrow. Let's see how arrogant he is fending for himself on the street." "That's a bit excessive," I muttered, because as much as I wanted to see him humbled, I wasn't ready to commit to actual villainy. I wouldn't just leave him without care. Not completely. "Oh, where's your backbone?" Lia sighed dramatically. "I'm just a bit angry becaus

"Hey," I say, because somebody has to start the conversation and apparently it won't be him. "Didn't you leave?" Henry asks, voice flat like a boring radio. "I already said I'm not leaving," I answer, because repeating myself is cardio and I like to stay in shape. "You must have something more you say. Don't keep it in." "Do you really want a divorce?" I ask, blunt and clean like I'm asking if he wants sugar in his coffee. "I'm no good now and stuck in bed or a wheelchair. Divorcing me will only do you good." "What do you do after I leave?" I shake my head. "Who will take care of you? Who's going to make sure you eat? You can't cook." "I can learn." "You'll starve before you do that! You can't even tell the difference between a garlic clove and a shallot, the shelves are too out of reach for you! What if you have an accident in the shower? What then? You cannot live without me right now!" I huffed. "Miserable." "I usually disguise it well. Do you dislike me?" "Who said that?

"Mommy, who's this homeless man?" was the first thing out of Levi's mouth when he saw Henry. I swear to God, I tried to hold it in—I really did—but my laugh slipped out like carbonation from a shaken bottle. The boy's got my mouth and his father's timing; a perfect genetic tragedy. Henry's face froze, then twisted into that familiar scowl that could scare small animals away. "I'm your father. Come here—" "Ah! Don't try and scare my child!" I snapped, stepping between them like a bodyguard. "Is it his fault he has no idea who you are?" Henry shut up instantly. Damn right. If there were an Olympic event for absentee fathering, he'd have more gold than Michael Phelps. Ever since we sent Levi abroad, I was the one who called him every day, who flew out whenever I could, who made up excuses to celebrate every little milestone. I was the one who kept the kid feeling loved while Henry was out chasing Jennie and his own ego. This was only the third time father and son had ever met face t

"Mommy, do you think this toy is expensive?" Levi asked, clutching a limited-edition action figure like it was a newborn baby. My poor boy. Seven years old and already worrying about finances like a forty-year-old accountant. "It's steep, baby," I said, forcing a grin that felt like my face was being taxed. "Tell you what—if you behave for a month, I'll get it." "Okay, Mommy," he sighed. Oh, my heart—straight through the ribs. He looked like he'd just agreed to give up happiness until further notice. "Hey!" That voice. Oh no. Oh no. I turned around slowly, and there she was—Claire. A hurricane in trans fat. "You little hussy, pay back my money!" I blinked. "What money? I don't owe you anything." "You cheated me out of $100K! You think you owe nothing?!" "You gave it willingly," I said, smiling sweetly because I know it annoys her. "I told you the secret, you paid for it. That's called legitimate business." "Bullshit!" Claire crossed her arms like she was auditioning for a vil

"Are you sure you heard him right?" Lia asked, squinting at me over the rim of her latte like she was trying to find evidence of brain damage. "He likes you? How could that be true? Hasn't he always clearly disliked you?" "Who knows," I said, stabbing a straw into my drink like it had wronged me. "He's probably just grateful. From the accident until now, I've been the only one to help him out. Gratitude and affection look a lot alike when you're emotionally constipated." "Well..." she leaned closer, whispering dramatically, "he even sent proof he's never cheated. I can't curse him for that. Is it possible that he actually likes you?" "You think that's possible?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Lia looked guilty enough to melt into her coffee. "It's all my fault for introducing you two at that party." "Meh," I waved a hand. "I was pushy, too. I wouldn't have liked me either back then. I had all the subtlety of a car alarm." "Nonsense," she snapped, guilt bubbling back into outrage.