Page 49 of The Wrong Husband

It was September, not too chilly yet, but with poor insulation, it made sense why the place was probably always freezing.

"Does she have any space heaters?" I looked around. This was the first time I'd been here. There was nothing here. Just bare bones furniture.

"I have one in my place." Moana patted me on my shoulder. "You came at the right time. So…I'll give you a brownie point."

I didn't deserve any points whatsoever. I'd ignored my new wife and didn't know that she moved out a week ago, that's how bad the situation was.

"What the fuck is going on with this poor kid?" Doc demanded as he checked her eyes again.

"I…don't know."

"Why is she here? I thought she was living with you."

"She…," I sighed, "it's complicated."

"No kidding."

I ran a hand through my hair. "She moved out, Doc. I didn't even know." Now that I said it, it sounded worse than when Liza reminded me.

Doc removed his gloves. "Why did you marry her?"

To hurt Bianca. But I hadn't just hurt Bianca who would be fine, she was still fucking Stanton according to my PI while she cried crocodile tears in front of my family and me. Emilia was the only one who had actually gotten hurt because of what I did.

"Well, can you get someone to stay with her? I don't want her alone," Doc muttered.

Moana was back with the heater. She plugged it into the socket. "I'll stay with her."

The heater made a hissing sound and Moana put a hand on Emilia's forehead. "Sweet Emilia."

"I'll stay," I said, feeling the need to do something right by this woman.

"No," Doc snapped. "I think you've done enough. I've seen this woman twice too many times now and both times it's you who are the problem."

"I didn't do anything the first—"

"You put her in harm's way and didn't protect her from Bianca, " Doc ground out. "And this time…," he looked at Moana.

"She was upset that you've been ignoring her, that her family cut her off, and your family pretends she doesn't exist," Moana pretty much summarized what Liza had said to me.

"What happened the last time?" I asked.

Moana kissed Emilia's forehead, right next to her stitches. "She's sleeping. I don't want to talk about this here where she may hear us."

We walked out from the bedroom area, which was cut off from the rest of the loft by a Japanese screen.

My eyes fell on the easel she'd been asleep in front of her. I hadn't noticed it until now.

The painting struck me like a punch to the gut. Beneath a stormy sky, a desolate landscape stretched out, with twisted, skeletal trees and a river of blood-red paint cutting through the barren ground. At the center, a heart lay broken and bleeding, its raw edges exposed as suffocating shadows crept around it.

"Fuck," Doc whispered.

"It hurts to even look at it," Moana said sadly.

There was such pain in that painting. Emilia had poured her soul onto the canvas, and it shattered me to see her anguish so vividly.

Doc's phone buzzed and he looked at his message. "I have to go. If anything changes, call me."

"Thanks, Doc." I held out my hand and he shook it. "She's gonna be okay, yeah?" I felt emotion hit my eyes and I knew Doc saw it. His face softened.