I’m curled up in a ball on the sofa, and the cushion beneath my cheek is wet with tears. I haven’t moved since Mr. Grant put me on the sofa and told me to wait for him. I feel hollowed out and sick with shock. I can’t get those pictures of my boyfriend and another woman out of my head. When did he find time to have a whole other girlfriend, or lover, or whatever she is? I barely have time to sit down for five minutes to myself.


    The thought makes me cringe. Is that why Leon cheated on me? Because I’m so boring and tired all the time?


    My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Leon. I sit up and wipe my face, and read it.


    Leon: You’re the one I want. I just made a mistake.


    Tears fill my eyes. A mistake? For a moment my heart lifts. Maybe it is all a terrible mistake. More texts from Leon light up my phone.


    Leon: She doesn’t mean anything to me really.


    Leon: And the thing is, you never seemed that interested in sex. I didn’t think you’d care if I got it elsewhere.


    Leon: I made a mistake, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.


    Leon: I was confused.


    Leon’s throwing every excuse at the wall, hoping something sticks. Confused? I know what confusion feels like, and it’s not taking happy selfies while you’re naked in bed with someone. Confusion is kneeling in a church pew praying over and over that you won’t burn in hell for all eternity because you’re never good enough. It’s trying to be a good girlfriend, and then having endless steamy dreams about your boyfriend’s dad. It’s hiding a murder spree and a secret kiss in the dark. If anyone finds out Mr. Grant killed my attackers and I concealed his involvement, I could go to prison and so could Mr. Grant. My boyfriend’s father doesn’t seem to have any PTSD or regret over the blood on his hands, and I have never once felt afraid of the man I saw kill four people. That’s confusing.


    The next two messagese through quickly, as if Leon is typing fast because he’s getting angry.


    Leon: And I was frustrated.


    Leon: I thought it was wrong to keep pushing you for sex.


    Leon: You didn’t want me to keep pushing you for sex, did you? It was making us both angry not getting what we needed.


    The phone drops from my fingers to the floor, and my heart drops with it. He was angry with me? I was never angry with him. The implication is clear that I wasn’t worth waiting for, even though I was giving Leon clear signs that I was getting morefortable with the idea of sleeping with him. The contraceptive patch proved that, didn’t it?


    That night he went down on me could have been disastrous, but he cooled off, came back to me, and started again, slow and loving. The way he touched me and kissed me—that second try was like night and day from the first. Later, I tried to tell him how grateful I was that he was patient and thoughtful enough to help me rx into it, and then make me feel so, so good, but he turned red and cut me off before I could get three words out. I don’t understand why he didn’t want to relive that wonderful moment with me.


    When did he start sleeping with this Angie? If I know when it started, maybe I can figure out what I did that triggered his infidelity. Was it a week when I took too many shifts at work? Was it right after I burst into tears and covered myself up because he pulled my top off?


    I pick up my phone and reply.


    Elena: How many times did you sleep with her? When did it start?


    Leon: It was just once, I swear.


    There are a dozen photos of them in bed together. The sheets change color and so does Angie’s lingerie. I start to get angry.


    Elena: Do you think I’m stupid?


    The three dots appear and they’re there for several minutes. Either he’s writing an essay or he’s deleting and retyping. Finally the messagees through.


    Leon: I think you’re frigid.


    Leon: You should see someone about that.


    Hurt fills up inside my chest. The usation in his words is clear. I’m not good enough. It’s nothing I didn’t already know.


    I dissolve into sobbing again. A few minutester, I hear the front door close, and then strong arms scoop me up, and I’m pulled against a warm chest. Mr. Grant holds me on hisp, murmuring soft words into my hair and gently stroking my brow.


    “I hate that you’re in so much pain. I’m so sorry, Elena. I’ve got you. Just cry it out.”


    Apparently I do need to cry, because I can’t stop. I cling to Mr. Grant’s bicep and shudder in his arms, which he keeps tight around me.


    “You must have really loved him,” he murmurs.


    I brush tears from my cheeks and sit up. “I don’t know if this hurts because I loved him, or because I was really trying, and I still wasn’t enough.”


    After the night Leon went down on me, I started to hope that we were turning a corner together. At first it wasn’t going well at all, and Leon had to leave the room because he was so frustrated with me. I tried to feel something, but I got in my head and couldn’t enjoy myself. Then he came back and everything was different. I could feel warmth and love in the way he touched me. The kisses he pressed to my thighs and stomach made me melt. And then his tongue…


    It’s always been difficult for me to get turned on with Leon, and finally reaching orgasm with him felt like a big achievement for me. For us. I was so proud of us.


    A horrible thought urs to me. All the time we were in bed together, he must have beenparing me with that other woman. I cringe when I think about all the ways I must have beencking. I bet Angie had no problem giving killer blowjobs and having orgasms left and right.


    “I’ve been bncing work and familymitments and feeling like I’m never good enough. I think trying to be a good person didn’t make me a very fun girlfriend.”


    Mr. Grant seizes my shoulders and makes me look at him. “Listen to me, Elena. You are notcking. None of this is your fault. Do you hear me?”


    It sure feels like it’s my fault. If I were a good person, I’d still have a boyfriend, and I’d know who my mother is by now.


    I can hear my aunts’ chilly voices in my head, berating me over this new turn of events.


    You gave him your body to treat like a yground, and now you’re all alone? Of course he walked out and didn’t look back. No man likes a whore, Elena.


    Just as disgusting and irresponsible as your mother. It’s anyone’s guess who your real father is. I’m sure she doesn’t even know.


    Mr. Grant’s insistent voice breaks through theirs. “You deserve to be treated with respect. You are more than enough, Elena.” His eyes run over my tearstained face as if he’s looking at someone beautiful, not a red-faced mess. “You deserve everything you want, just as you are.”


    My lower lip quivers as I gaze up at him. But I’ve never been enough. I’ve always been foundcking. No one’s ever said anything so wonderful to me before.


    “I think Leon dumped me because I’m boring.”


    Mr. Grant fights a smile. My eyes widen in surprise.


    He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I’m notughing at you. It’s just that…” He lifts his twinkling eyes to mine. “After what you and I have been through together, how could you call yourself boring?”


    The murders.


    The kiss.


    No, he means the murders. Of course he does. “You’re the one who saved me when I got into trouble. I didn’t do anything.”


    “Didn’t you?” He rests his temple on his fist and gazes at me, an admiring smile on his face. “Do you ever think about how you picked up thatmp and smashed it across your attacker’s face? Do you think about stabbing one of them? I do. I think about it a lot.”


    It wasn’t like it was a conscious decision. Cun had a wild, angry expression in his eyes when he entered the room, and I was suddenly energized. He came to save me when I needed him.


    Mr. Grant tucks my hair behind my ear. “When I say you are enough, it doesn’t mean I’ve measured you against some special criteria. It means that just by being you, kind, sweet Elena, I’m in awe of you.”


    I suck in a breath. Maybe Cun is just trying to make me feel better, but for a moment, I believe him. He speaks so sensitively about the idea of being enough that I wonder if he’s worried about the same thing.


    “You sound like this is something you’ve struggled with as well. Being enough for someone.”


    He grimaces. “My ex didn’t cheat on me, but she let me know she was gravely disappointed in the man I am.”


    I clutch his hand, a pang going through me. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”


    Mr. Grant gazes at my fingers wrapped around his. “I’m getting over it.”


    I’m filled with curiosity about Mr. Grant’s past. I know so little about him. “Can you tell me about her?”


    He turns his hand over, palm up, and gently holds mine. “What would you like to know?”


    “Why didn’t things work out between you two?”


    He thinks for a moment, idly caressing my thumb with his. “We wanted different things. I wanted more children, and she wanted more freedom. I couldn’t be the real me around her, so piece by piece, I shut her out, and that hurt her.”


    “Who’s the real Cun Grant?”


    He smiles, and strokes the pad of his thumb across my palm. “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever been my whole self before, but I feel like I’m getting closer.”


    I rarely let my eyes linger on Mr. Grant, because otherwise, I’d be staring at his handsome face nonstop. Sitting so close together on his sofa in his warm, cozy house while he holds my hand, I give myself permission to drink him in.


    When I first met Mr. Grant, he had a solemn, washed-out look. He wore nd, pale colors. He had the air of a man who was trying to fade into the background.


    Now, he has a glow. He wears ck more often, a striking color on him that enhances his handsome features. He’s not so careful about covering his tattoos, and he moves with newfound confidence and authority.


    Mr. Grant watches me study him. “What do you make of me, Elena?”


    I feel a warm sparkle when he says my name. “You’re different than when we first met.”


    “Am I?”


    “When I first saw you in that diner, you seemed like the world had ceased to give you any happiness. Your divorce must have been painful, but I think you’re getting past it.”


    “Maybe that’s it.” He cups my face and strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Thank you for always taking such good care of my daughter, darlin’.”


    A heated thrill goes through me as we stare into each other’s eyes. Darlin’. He called me that right before he kissed me in his truck. Are you afraid of me, darlin’? I still don’t know why that happened—or why I enjoyed it so much. Mr. Grant is twenty years older than me. Surely he’s too old for me to think he’s sexy or want to go to bed with him. Our lives are in very different ces. I’m a mess, and he has responsibilities and an important job. He’s my boss, at least some of the time. It’s not appropriate or realistic for me to think about Mr. Grant in any way that’s romantic or sexual.


    And yet.


    I’ve been terrified to admit it to myself, but Leon’s dad has a strong pull on me. Feeling shy, I nce at our hands with our fingers tangled together. My eyes travel slowly up his arm, his shoulder, his throat, and then to his face. I feel a jolt when I realize he’s looking at me as intently as I’m looking at him.


    Elena. How much do you really want my son?


    My eyes drift to his lips. Such a full lower lip. A sensitive-looking mouth. I remember vividly that it feels so good to be kissed by him.


    I lean forward slightly, closing some of the gap between us. My eyes flutter closed, and I tilt my mouth up to his.


    “Elena…” he whispers, grazing my cheekbone with his thumb.


    “Yes?” I whisper breathily. This is where he tells me that he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about our kiss. Or better yet, he just takes my face in his hands and kisses me. A demanding kiss, filled with desperation that we can finally sate.


    “I should check on her, Elena.”


    I frown, not understanding what he means. I hear a distant, tinny sound, and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s Rosie crying through the baby monitor apps on both of our phones.


    My eyes snap open. Mr. Grant is gazing at me with a deep line etched between his brows.


    “Oh, my God. Rosie.” I sit up with a gasp. “I’m so sorry.”


    He gets to his feet. That frown on his face has to mean grave disapproval. “It’s all right, Elena. I’ll go.”


    “Please, I can do it.” My face is ming as I hurry after him. The whole reason I’m here is to look after Rosie. Trying to kiss the hot dad while I ignore the baby? I’m the worst babysitter ever. Unfortunately, Mr. Grant beats me to the nursey.


    As he lifts the crying, red-faced little girl in his arms, there’s the gentlest look on his face, and he murmurs soothing words to her. I hover by his side, twisting my fingers together, feeling useless but also unable to leave his side now that I’m here.


    When Rosie’s crying dies down, Mr. Grant turns to me. “You go back to the sofa, Elena. You’ve had a terrible shock tonight.”


    I’m suffering the newer devastation that I tried to kiss my boyfriend’s dad while I neglected his daughter, who I’m paid to look after. I think I’d rather break up with Leon a second time. “I’m so sorry, I should have heard her crying ande right away.”


    “After the night you’ve had, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who feels like I should apologize to you on behalf of my son.”


    I move away and rest my back against the doorframe, enjoying the sight of him holding Rosie and thefort it brings me. He looks even sexier with the baby in his strong arms.


    I nce toward the stairs. I can’t keep having these crazy thoughts. “I’m in the way. Seeing as I’ve ruined your evening, I should go home. Unless you want to try and make that poker game?”


    Mr. Grant ces his daughter back in the crib, cradling her in his big hands. Thanks to thefort of her father’s arms, the little girl has closed her eyes and fallen back asleep. He gently tucks the nket in around her, and turns to me. “I’d drive you home, but Rosie’s sleeping. Stay here and sleep in the spare room. I’ll look after her. I’m not in the mood for poker now anyway.”


    Is it my imagination, or do his eyes drop to my mouth for a moment?


    I feel a ze of agonized shame. Of course Mr. Grant isn’t looking at my mouth. Turning away quickly, I head for the door. “I’ll just go. I want to be home.”


    He reaches out and seizes my wrist. “Elena. If you won’t stay, I’ll order a car for you. It’s not safe for you to be out alone by yourself at night.”


    Wordlessly, I nod.


    Five minutester, a car pulls up. As I say goodbye to him, I can’t look him in the eye. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more wretched in my life.<hr>


    “Here you go. It’s twice what I normally pay.”


    Aunt Astrid, Aunt Frieda, and I are sitting around the kitchen table in the house I used to call home. Aunt Astrid pulls crisp bills out of the envelope I’ve handed over instead of the usual crumpled ones, and I feel my blood boil as I watch her count it.


    It’s been three days since I found out that Leon has been cheating on me. I’ve been holding it together at the diner, but I haven’t heard from my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—and I feel in a sort of limbo. It feels like we’re broken up, but nothing’s been said between us since he called me frigid.


    I haven’t seen Mr. Grant since I tried to kiss him. He has called me twice, but I haven’t found the courage to speak to him. Every time I remember that moment when my eyes closed, practically begging for his lips, I want to burst into mes and disintegrate. Leon didn’t want me because I wasn’t enough for him. Mr. Grant no doubt thinks I’m repent for trying to kiss him. I threw myself at both father and son. Who does that? My skin heats ufortably and I shift around in my seat.


    I suspect Cun is only calling me so he can fire me. There’s an ache in my throat as I imagine never seeing Rosie again. I was starting to get attached to her, and I think she liked me too. As a babysitter, you’re not supposed to get attached, but she was just too adorable. She’s loved so much, and I can’t help being drawn to all that love, and loving her as well.


    Aunt Astrid looks up at me with a hard, suspicious gleam in her eye. “Elena, where did you get this money?”


    I wasn’t expecting such a negative reaction.


    “Working,” I say, my confidence slipping away. I thought they’d be pleased with the double payment. I thought for once they’d smile at me and tell me they were proud of me.


    Aunt Frieda takes a sip of her tea. “New shoes. Did you notice, Astrid?”


    “Oh, I noticed,” Aunt Astrid replies darkly as if they’re discussing something sinister.


    “I’ve been working a second job that pays well. Paid well,” I correct myself. I doubt I’ll ever receive any more work from Mr. Grant. Yesterday I bought myself new sneakers for work. Not branded ones. Cheap ones, butfortable.


    “Oh, have you?” Aunt Astrid asks with an edge to her voice. She brandishes the money. “This amount is easy for you to pay?”


    “Well, it was this week,” I reply, suspecting this is a trap. “But I don’t know if I—”


    “Then next week you can double it,” Aunt Astrid says. “If you’ve doubled it once, you can double it again.”


    “What?” I gasp, sitting forward. “Why?”


    Aunt Frieda’s eyes gleam as though she’s impressed by her sister’s demand.


    “You’d only waste the money if you kept it,” Aunt Frieda says.


    “Yes, you can pay us twice as much if this is so easy for you,” adds Aunt Astrid.


    “But I’m putting what’s leftover in the bank. I’m nearly twenty-one and I have no savings.” The fear that I’m falling far behind my peers in terms of life milestones has grown stronger the past few days. Leon’s presence in my life was masking a lot of those fears because I could tell myself that at least I had a boyfriend.


    Aunt Frieda leans forward. “So you don’t want to meet your mother? Is that what you’re saying?”


    I feel like she’s pped me across the face.


    Next to me on the table is a porcin vase shaped like themp I used against my attacker in Fenton. I fantasize about picking it up and smashing it over my aunts’ greedy heads. If only violence would solve this problem as well.


    I stare into my dull gray tea while they berate me for myziness, ingratitude, and irresponsibility. They pester me about whether I’ve been chaste like I promised, and my face betrays me by turning red.


    Aunt Astrid and Aunt Frieda exchange scandalized nces and shake their heads, but their eyes are wide and bright as though they delight in finding me disgusting and scious.


    I leave their house feeling weighed down with misery and self-loathing. Every day is a chance to prove that I deserve more than their bitter, miserly love, and every day I fail.


    I want to go straight to bed when I get home, but as I step out of the elevator, my feet squelch in wet carpet. Water is pouring from beneath my apartment door and flooding the hallway. I stare at this iprehensible sight for a moment before digging out my key and unlocking my door.


    Water gushes over my feet.


    “What the frick?” I whisper, walking into my sodden apartment. Water is spouting from beneath the sink. The force of it has pushed the cab doors open. I can see a broken pipe, and I get soaked through trying and failing to staunch the flow.


    I go back into the hallway and call myndlord and then Alexandra. I try both numbers again and again, alternating between them, but neither picks up. Meanwhile, the flooding in the hallway is getting worse. I can only imagine that people downstairs must have water dripping or even gushing through their ceilings.


    I pace up and down for a moment and then try Alexandra again. As soon as I hang up, my phone rings, and I answer without looking at who’s calling. “Alexandra, you’re not going to believe this.”


    It’s not Alexandra’s voice I hear in my ear, but a deep, masculine one.


    “Elena? It’s Cun.”


    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and


    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!