Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Governor’s Wife, His beautiful ruin: Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

Evelyn Marcus texted me Monday morning. Have what you need. Can meet today. I stared at the message for a long time before I replied. Where? I asked “Parking garage. Third level. One hour” I deleted the conversation and got dressed. Alfred was already gone by the time I came downstairs. Clara was still asleep. Nathan had left early for some study group he probably wasn’t attending. The house was quiet in that hollow way it got when everyone was avoiding each other. I grabbed my keys and left. The parking garage was downtown, attached to a shopping center I’d never been to. I parked on the third level near the back, away from the elevators, and waited. Marcus’s car pulled in ten minutes later. Black sedan. Tinted windows. He parked two spaces away. I got out. He got out. We met between the cars. “You have it?” I asked. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small flash drive. “Everything you asked for. Took me three days to pull it without anyone noticing

Evelyn Alfred called a family meeting that evening. I knew something was coming when he called out Nathan asking him to come downstairs, when he knocked on Clara’s door and asked her to join us in the living room, when he looked at me across the kitchen and said, “We need to talk. All of us.” I followed him into the living room where Nathan was already slouched on the couch, arms crossed, face set in that permanent scowl he’d been wearing for months. Clara came down a minute later, hesitant, eyes bouncing between her father and me trying to gauge the temperature of whatever was about to happen. Alfred stood in front of the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back “I want to talk to you all about what’s been happening,” he started, voice soft, dripping with the kind of false sincerity he’d perfected over years of lying to rooms full of people who wanted to believe him. “I know the last few days have been difficult. I know you’ve seen things online, heard things at school, re

Evelyn I woke up to screaming. Nathan’s voice, loud and raw, cutting through the walls from downstairs. I sat up, disoriented, trying to place what was happening. The clock on the nightstand read 7:43 a.m. Alfred’s side of the bed was already empty, the sheets thrown back in a hurry. More screaming. Angrier now. Words I couldn’t quite make out but the tone was unmistakable. Rage. Pure, unfiltered rage. I got out of bed and pulled on a robe, my pulse already picking up before I even knew what was wrong. My feet hit the cold floor and I moved quickly toward the door, tying the robe around my waist as I went. When I got to the top of the stairs, I could make out the words. “How could you do this? How could you be this fucking stupid?” Alfred’s voice, quieter, trying to calm him down. “Nathan, listen to me…” “No! I’m done listening to you!” I walked down the stairs and found them in the living room. Nathan standing in the middle of the room, his phone clutched in his hand

Evelyn I was married to Alfred for twenty-two years, and I had never seen him walk through that door the way he did that day. He came in looking tired. Worn out. Exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that settles into a man’s bones and shows in the slump of his shoulders, the way his tie hung loose around his neck, the lines deepening around his eyes. And for a second, I felt this sharp jolt of satisfaction knowing I was finally making him feel a fraction of the heat and pain he’d made me feel all those years. But then some part of me twisted with regret, with pity even, watching him drag himself through the door like a man who’d already lost. It was pathetic, really. How quickly satisfaction could curdle into something uglier. He came home earlier than expected, which was strange. With everything going on, the scandal still bleeding across every news outlet, donors pulling out, his campaign hemorrhaging support by the hour, I’d expected him to stay out longer. Dealing with meetin

Evelyn He reached for the fork. His hand shook slightly. He took a bite, chewed slowly, like he’d forgotten how. Swallowed. Took another bite. He looked so distant like his mind was completely somewhere else. He got through maybe half before he stopped, set the fork down, pushed the plate away slightly.Then he looked up at me. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Barely there but real. “Thank you,” he said quietly. I nodded and sat down beside him again. We didn’t talk. The house settled around us, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen, the tick of a clock somewhere I couldn’t see. The photos of his mother watched from every wall, her smile frozen in time, forever young in some, forever proud in others. I found myself staring at him. At the way the dim light caught the edges of his tattoos. The bird across his ribs, wings spread mid-flight. The words in script wrapping his collarbone, something in Spanish I couldn’t quite read. T