Chapter 20: Morning Lies (Lauren POV)
Chapter 20: Morning Lies (Lauren POV)
The sound of running water from the shower down the hall awakened me up at 6:30 AM. I had been having restless dreams about Tom's hands.
I lay in the guest bed for a few minutes, listening to the noises of the morning routine in the house: footfall on the hardwood floor, muffled voices, and the coffee maker waking up. Sounds that should have been soothing to a normal household suddenly felt wrong because of what happened last night.
Alex had sent me three texts that said "thinking about you" and "call when you're ready." The lovely concern should have made me feel better, but instead it made me think about how alone I had become and how much I needed someone whose intensity sometimes felt as dangerous as it was appealing.
I got out of bed and into the shower, where the hot water washed away the feeling of Tom's unwanted contact. But no amount of scrubbing could wash away the recollection of his spoiled whisper, "Sarah doesn't have to know."
Downstairs, the kitchen was a swirl of morning commotion. While Emma ate cereal and Sophie picked at her toast at the table, Sarah packed lunch boxes at the counter. Tom went around them all with practiced speed, filling travel mugs with coffee and checked his phone.
"Good morning, Lauren," Sarah greeted cheerfully. "Coffee's fresh."
I poured myself a mug, hyperaware of Tom's presence as he gathered his briefcase and keys. He appeared quite normal, the dedicated father and husband prepared for another day at the office. No sign of the predator who'd trapped me just hours earlier.
"Sleep well?" Tom questioned, and his tone was so casually kind that for a second I wondered if I'd dreamt the entire conversation.
But then he caught my eye, and I saw the spark of something calculating behind his smile. A reminder that he remembered every detail of what had transpired, and that his pleasant domesticity was only another facade.
"Fine," I managed.
"Daddy, can you help me with my backpack?" Sophie inquired, straining with the zipper.
"Of course, sweetheart." Tom knelt alongside her chair, his concentration concentrated totally on the work. The picture of paternal devotion.
I observed Sarah hurrying around the kitchen, completely oblivious that her husband had propositioned her sister the night before. She looked exhausted but pleased, gliding through her morning routine with the effortless grace of someone who'd found her place in the world.
How could I damage that?
"Lauren, are you okay?" Sarah asked, observing my expression with anxiety. "You look pale."
"Just nervous about today, I guess."
"Right, the evaluation with Dr. Voss." Sarah's expression turned more serious. "I know this is scary, but remember what we talked about. Just be honest with her, follow her recommendations. Everything will work out."
Tom rose up from aiding Sophie, brushing his hands on his jeans. "I should head to the office. Big client meeting this morning." He kissed Sarah's cheek, then proceeded toward the girls to say goodbye.
As he went behind my chair, his hand gently touched my shoulder, a move that would look casual to anybody viewing but felt heavy with meaning to me. His fingers squeezed just slightly too long, a subtle reminder of unfinished business.
"Have a good day, Lauren," he said. "Hope everything goes well with your appointment."
After he departed, the kitchen seemed marginally safer, but the harm was done. Every normal family interaction now felt staged, as if I was watching actors play roles rather than experiencing true household life.
"Mommy, why does Aunt Lauren look sad?" Sophie asked, her five-year-old directness breaking through the grownup pretension.
"She's just worried about some grown-up stuff, dear. Nothing for you to worry about."
Children were often more perceptive than adults gave them credit for, especially when it came to spotting dangers to their family's stability.
"Girls, finish your breakfast," Sarah said. "We need to leave for school in ten minutes."
Emma promptly stepped up her cereal consumption, but Sophie continued nibbling at her bread, her gaze wandering between Sarah and myself as if attempting to decode the undercurrents she could sense but not understand.
"Sarah," I replied gently, "I've been thinking about maybe returning home. Getting out of your hair so you may get back to normal family life."
Sarah's spoon clattered against her coffee mug. "Lauren, no. You don't have to leave. The girls adore having you here, and I..." She paused, attempting to search for the proper words. "I need you here right now. With everything that's occurring, with the evaluation and the stress you're under, I want to be able to take care of you."
The real love in her voice made my chest heavy with shame. Sarah was trying so hard to support me, to maintain our family together, while I hid a secret that could destroy everything she'd accomplished.
"Besides," Sarah said, "where would you go? Your apartment lease is up next month, and with your job position unknown..."
She was right. I'd been so concentrated on the supernatural threats and career problems that I'd scarcely addressed practical things like shelter and income. If I lost my work permanently, if I couldn't get new employment with a mental evaluation on my record, where would I live? What would I do?
"I just don't want to be a burden," I said.
"You're not a burden. You're family." Sarah leaned across the table and grasped my hand. "We stick together, no matter what. That's what family does."
"Mommy, we're going to be late," Emma declared, checking the kitchen clock with the importance of a seven-year-old who'd just learned to tell time.
"Right, everyone grab your things." Sarah stepped into organizational mode, gathering lunch boxes and backpacks with practiced speed.
As the family prepared to leave, I found myself observing each encounter through a new perspective. Tom's goodnight kiss for Sarah seemed perfunctory. His hug for the girls felt genuine, which strangely made his behavior toward me even more disturbing—he could love his children while being willing to betray their mother.
"I'll be back after I drop them off," Sarah told me. "Maybe we can have coffee and talk before you have to leave for your appointment?"
"Sure," I answered, but the prospect of evaluating my predicament any further was overwhelming.
After they went, I sat alone in the silent kitchen, surrounded by the trash of typical family life—crumbs on the table, dishes in the sink, Sophie's forgotten hair ribbon on the counter. Evidence of the solid, caring home I was now ruining with my presence.
My phone buzzed: another text from Alex. "How are you feeling about today? I can drive you to the appointment if you wish."
I replied back: "Thanks, but I need to do this alone."
His response came immediately: "You don't have to face anything alone anymore."
The front door opened, and Sarah's voice cried out: "Lauren? I'm back!"
She emerged in the kitchen doorway with two cups of gourmet coffee from the cafe down the street. "Thought we could use the good stuff today."
"Thanks." I received the cup gratefully, smelling the rich aroma of properly brewed espresso.
Sarah settled across from me at the table, her demeanor solemn. "Okay, let's talk about Dr. Voss. What are you planning to tell her?"
"The truth, I guess."
"Which version of the truth?"
"The version that gets me declared mentally competent," I said finally.
"Good. That's good." Sarah's relief was evident. "Lauren, I know this feels like giving up, like admitting defeat. But sometimes the prudent choice is to tell people what they need to hear so you may survive to fight another day."
"And if there really are supernatural powers at work? If I'm not delusional?"
Sarah's expression got pained. "Then you find a method to deal with that quietly, without endangering your profession and your future. You can't save someone if you're incarcerated in a psychiatric facility."
Her rationale was sound, but it seemed like another betrayal—of Amanda's memory, of my own integrity, of everything I'd tried to achieve as a detective. Yet what option did I have?
"I should get ready," I remarked, standing from the table."
"You'll do great," Sarah murmured, but her eyes carried the same anxious intensity I'd seen when our mother's mental health had begun worsening years earlier.