<b>Chapter </b>11


    Hearing her calm, unremarkable voice, Frank felt a sharp pang in his chest, as if something had pricked his heart.


    He frowned. “Why do you suddenly want to throw it out? <i>You </i>used to treasure that wedding dress.”


    Elissa didn’t deny it.


    For the past three years, she’d always made sure it had a special ce in her closet, hanging in its own space. Every year, she’d send it out to be cleaned and cared for.


    But she’d cherished it because she believed that, in life, you only get married once–so of course the dress should be kept as a memory.


    Now, they were getting divorced. A


    For all she knew, Frank would bring his new love home as soon as she was out the door.


    That wedding dress, just like her, had be something unnecessary in this house.


    Elissa forced a small smile. “It’s ruined. I only just noticed–a big tear right down the side.”


    “That’s still no reason to just toss it out.”


    Frank watched her try <i>to </i>smile, thinking she was reluctant to let go. “Look, I’ll call the bridal shop and have someone pick it up. Maybe they can fix it-”


    “No,” she cut him off, shaking her head and meeting his eyes. “Some things, once broken, can’t be repaired.”


    She wasn’t talking about the dress.


    She was talking about hearts. About this marriage.


    Without waiting for Frank to answer, she turned and walked inside.


    As he watched her limp up the steps, Frank finally remembered–he hurried after her. “Hey, are you still hurt? It’s been days; why are you still limping?”


    There’s a saying about this: when you lose a child, the milk dries up.


    That was how it was.


    But she needed his guilt.


    Elissa lowered her gaze and answered honestly, “It was almost healed. Butst night, when I went back to the Murphy estate, I had to kneel out in the snow for four hours.”


    <b>1/3 </b>


    13:29


    “What did you say?”


    Frank stared at her, shocked. His eyes darted to her swollen, reddened hands, pupils narrowing. “Your hands–what happened to your hands?”


    She blinked. “I was beaten.”


    Her tone was as t and ordinary as if she were talking about someone else, not a hint ofint.


    He frowned deeper. “Why would you have to kneel that long, and-”


    He couldn’t finish the thought.


    Elissa was supposed to be half a daughter to the Murphys. How could shee back from a visit looking like this?


    She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze. For a split second, she remembered a much younger version of herself, full of hope and longing to marry him.


    She really had wanted to grow old with Frank.


    For a long moment, she said nothing, pushing down the ache in her chest. Atst, under the weight of his questioning, she managed a smile. “Because you didn’te with me.”


    He swallowed hard, pushing back a wave of irritation. “Don’t try tough it off. Doesn’t it


    hurt?”


    “It does.”


    Elissa nodded. “But I’m used to it.”


    “Used to it?”


    “Yes.”


    She pressed her palms together, her voice so calm it could have been about someone else’s pain. “Whenever you don’te back with me, this is what happens.”


    In truth, it was more than that.


    For as long as she could remember, any little thing that displeased Frank’s grandmother


    would end like this.


    That spot in the garden paved with small stones–it had been designed just for her.


    She’d only been living with the Murphys a year–six years old when she learned how to kneel just right to satisfy the old woman. Knees, shins, the tops of her feet–all had to line up, pressed perfectly against the sharp stones.


    Frank crouched down and gently lifted the hem of her dress. Her knee was swollen and


    <b>2/3 </b>


    13:29


    Chapter <b>11 </b>


    bruised, the skin discolored in ugly shades of purple and blue.


    Her calves were no better–covered in welts and bruises.


    The marks were all the more jarring against her pale, delicate skin.


    Compared to Marcia’s slightly reddened knees from a couple of days ago, this was a world apart.


    Rage boiled up inside Frank. Without thinking, he swept her up and carried her to the sofa, his expression stormy. “Why didn’t you call me when this happened?”


    The Atwaters and the Murphys had once been equals.


    But in recent years, after Rowan Murphy took over the family, his ruthless reforms had pulled them far ahead.


    Still, Frank’s wife was not someone to be bullied like this.