Liv Constantine - The Last Mrs. Parrish

“Any problem putting him down?” Amber asked.

“No, ma’am. Drank his bottle and went right to sleep. He’s a sweet one, that one.”

Amber leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his head. He was a beautiful child, and she looked forward to the day when he’d become interesting. When he could carry on a conversation and play games instead of just lying around like a lump.

Amber got in bed and pulled out the detective novel she’d hidden in her nightstand. Close to an hour later, Jackson finally came up, and she put it away before he could see it. It had been two weeks since they’d had sex, and she was getting worried. When he slipped under the covers, she reached over and began to stroke him. He pushed her hand away.

“Not in the mood.”

She tossed and turned and finally fell asleep, still wondering how she was going to restore harmony between them.

Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She woke up in a panic and realized he was straddling her, his hand over her nose. She pried his fingers from her face, and gasping, cried out.

“What are you doing?”

“Ah, good. You’re awake.”

He flipped the lamp on. Her eyes flew open when she saw that he was holding a gun; the same gun she’d found in Daphne’s closet all those months ago.

“Jackson! What are you doing?”

He pointed the gun at her head. “If you ever throw anything at me again, you won’t wake up the next time.”

She went to push his hand away, certain he was just playing around. “Ha, ha.”

He grabbed her wrist with his other hand. “I’m serious.”

Her mouth fell open. “What do you want?”

“Bye, Amber.”

She screamed as his finger depressed the trigger. Click . Nothing happened.

She felt something wet and realized her bladder had emptied. A look of disgust filled his face.

“You’re weak. Pissing the bed like a child.”

He jumped off, still pointing the gun at her.

“This time you get a pass. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

“I’ll call the cops.”

He laughed. “No, you won’t. They’d end up arresting you. You’re a fugitive, remember?” He pointed to the bed. “Get up and change the sheets.”

“Can I take a shower first?”

“No.”

She got up and began to strip the bed, sobbing as she did so. He stood, watching the entire time, not saying a word. After she’d finished, he spoke again.

“Go take a shower, and then we’ll have a little talk.” She began to walk away, and he called her back.

“One more thing.” He threw the gun at her, and it fell to the floor before she could catch it. “Don’t worry, it’s not loaded. Take a look at the initials.”

She picked it up and saw the letters she’d first read months before: YMB. “What does it stand for?”

He smiled. “You’re mine, bitch.”

So now she listened to everything he said, like an obedient child. When he told her to lose five pounds, she didn’t argue, even though she was back to her pre-baby weight already. When he called her “stupid” and “white trash,” she didn’t argue with him, but apologized for whatever perceived infraction she’d committed. He showered her with expensive clothes and jewelry, but now she understood that it was all for show. And in public they were the golden couple, she the adored and adoring wife, he the handsome indulgent husband.

The sex became more demeaning and debasing — he’d demand oral pleasure from her when she was on her way out the door, or after she’d just gotten dressed, so he could make sure to leave his mark and humiliate her further. What had she ever done to deserve this? Life was so unfair. She’d worked so hard to escape her life in that wretched town where everyone looked at her like she was trash. Now she was Mrs. Jackson Parrish, one of the richest women in town, surrounded by the best of everything. And yet she was still being looked down on, still being treated like garbage. All she’d wanted was the life she deserved. It didn’t occur to her that she had gotten it.

Eight Months Later

Daphne gripped the phone tightly in her hand while looking out the window of the New York cab. She’d been too nervous to eat anything on the plane, and her stomach was growling insistently now. Rooting through her bag, she found a mint and put it in her mouth. She took a deep breath and braced herself when they pulled up to the front of Jackson’s office building. After today, she could leave Connecticut behind her for good and get on with the new life she was forging.

Once the divorce was final, Daphne had taken the girls and gone to see her mother at the inn. She hadn’t called ahead — she didn’t really know how to begin. After they’d settled in and the girls had gone to sleep, she and Ruth sat together and she told her everything from beginning to end.

Her mother had been heartbroken. “My poor girl. Why didn’t you ever tell me? You should have come to me.”

Daphne had sighed. “I tried. When Tallulah was a baby, I left. But that’s when he had me committed and put together all that evidence against me. There was nothing I could do.” Daphne reached out and grabbed her mother’s hand. “And there was nothing you could do.”

Ruth was crying. “I should have known. You’re my daughter. I should have seen through him. Realized you hadn’t really changed into the person he made you out to be.”

“No, Mom. You couldn’t have known. Please don’t blame yourself. What matters is that I’m free now. We can be together now.”

“Your father never liked him,” Ruth had said quietly.

“What?”

“I thought he was being overprotective. You know, just a dad not wanting his little girl to grow up. He thought he was too slick, too practiced. I wish I’d listened.”

“I wouldn’t have listened. It would have only pushed us further apart than we already were.” She put her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I miss him so much. He was a wonderful father.”

They’d stayed up all night, catching up and reconnecting. Her mother surprised her the next day with her decision.

“How would you feel if I sold the inn to Barry and moved with you to California?”

“I’d be thrilled! Are you serious?”

She’d nodded. “I’ve missed enough. I don’t want to miss any more.”

The girls had been ecstatic to learn that their grandmother would be living with them.

Southern California had been good for all of them. The constant sunshine and happy dispositions of everyone around them had done wonders. The girls still missed their father, of course, but every day it got a little easier. They blamed Amber for the estrangement, and Daphne was happy to let them. When they were old enough, she would tell them the truth. In the meantime, the girls were healing, with the help of a gifted therapist, a neighborhood full of kids, and a yellow lab they called Mr. Bandit — renamed for his tendency to steal their toys.

They’d found a lovely four-bedroom home in Santa Cruz a mile and a half from the beach. At first she was worried that the girls would find it hard to go from living in their estate on the water to this charming but cozy two-thousand-square-foot house. She had more than enough money from the settlement to buy something bigger, but she was finished living that kind of life. Her mother had sold the B&B to Barry and insisted on contributing to the purchase of the house. Daphne had put the money from the settlement in a trust for the girls, which provided enough interest for them to live on. Douglas would be taking the reins at Julie’s Smile, and Daphne would be on his board. She’d go back to working, of course, but not yet. Now was a time for healing.