Chapter 3: Goodbye to Love and Lies

My clothes were slowly unfastened, exposing the marks. Caleb’s expression darkened, emotions flickering in his eyes.

The lamplight caught the bruise on my collarbone, and I saw something flicker in his expression—anger, guilt, maybe both.

I lay there with my eyes closed, wanting to know what he intended.

I listened for the soft sound of his breathing, waiting for him to say something, anything, to break the tension.

But he didn’t wake me, just gently wiped my body, as if holding something fragile and precious.

His hands were careful, almost reverent, as he cleaned the spots where Rachel’s nails had dug in. It was a tenderness that broke my heart more than any harsh word could.

Yet all I felt was bitter irony.

I let the silence stretch, feeling the distance between us grow with every second.

In the end, he left. In the quiet of the night, I couldn’t hold back my tears.

The sobs came softly, muffled by the pillow, but the ache in my chest was sharp and clear. I curled in on myself, wishing I could shed this skin and all its memories.

When I was first engaged to Caleb, we were little more than strangers. He never mentioned sleeping together, which was a relief.

It was all business, a contract drawn up by people who’d never cared to ask what I wanted. I was grateful for his distance, clinging to the illusion of safety it brought.

Everyone said Caleb was Derek’s right-hand man, but also constantly in danger—a man doomed to die young.

Gossip was currency in this house, traded over laundry baskets and back porch cigarettes. The rumors painted Caleb as a man with one foot in the grave and the other in someone else’s battles.

At the time, I didn’t care, just quietly swept the porch, waiting for the day I’d become a widow.

I kept my head down, watched the seasons change through the kitchen window, and pretended the world couldn’t touch me.

He never spoke much, but always brought me firewood or ice packs when I needed them.

He kept showing up—fixing the leaky sink, making sure my coffee was just how I liked it, even remembering to bring home my favorite donuts from Murphy’s bakery.

His acts of kindness were small but steady—an extra blanket on a cold night, a cup of sweet tea left on the table. Each one chipped away at my resolve, even if I tried not to notice.

When I asked, he’d just say, “It’s my job.”

He always shrugged, ducking his head like he didn’t want me to see him smile. It was easy to believe he meant it, back then.

Everyone envied that, as a housemaid, I lived almost like a wife. After so long without a child, gossip spread.

In a town where everyone knew everyone else’s business, whispers grew into storms. I learned to tune them out, but sometimes, the weight of their words settled on my shoulders anyway.

Only then did I realize that three years had slipped by. He had never died.

Somewhere along the way, I’d stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. Caleb was still there, alive, steady, and quietly kind.

Thinking about spending a lifetime like this, I didn’t know how to feel. On a whim, I went to find Caleb.

The night was heavy with summer rain, and I found him sitting on the back steps, mask in hand, lost in thought.

Looking at his pitch-black mask, I hesitated to bring up divorce, but saw his eyes full of helplessness. “Did I do something wrong?”

His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid of the answer. I saw the fear in his eyes, the uncertainty that mirrored my own.

I quickly waved my hands. He was good to me, but I didn’t want to hold him back. Without love, I couldn’t give him anything.

It was a messy, impossible feeling—wanting him to be free, but also not wanting to let go.

Maybe he knew what I was thinking. He solemnly opened his heart: “I, Caleb, in this life, only you. I will never betray you, in life or in death.”

He spoke like he was swearing an oath, every word heavy with meaning. My chest tightened, caught between longing and fear.

In the end, all that was left was his lonely figure and the unresolved divorce.

The night closed around us, leaving only the sound of distant thunder and the ache of unfinished business.

After that day, he became even more considerate. In his words: “I must not have done well enough, so my wife wants to leave me.”

He started leaving little notes tucked in with my breakfast, or flowers picked from the wild patch behind the house. It was clumsy, but honest—a slow, gentle courtship I hadn’t known I needed.

So, we grew closer. My heart gradually softened. I decided to be honest—if I liked him, then I liked him. What was there to hesitate about?

I stopped hiding behind sarcasm or distance, letting myself fall into the comfort of his presence.

We confessed our feelings.

It was awkward and sweet, both of us stumbling over the words, but it was real.

He said that after coming back from St. Mary’s Church, we would finally be together.

I’d always imagined St. Mary’s as one of those old, red-brick churches you find in every small Midwestern town—a place where secrets are whispered to the stained-glass saints.

I always knew that trip to St. Mary’s was for the leading lady to pray for a child, but I never expected I would be used as a pawn.

The irony stung. All the hope tied up in that trip was just a backdrop for someone else’s scheme.

In the end, the maid who acted as a surrogate was cut open for the child, and after a cold war, the main couple reconciled.

It was the kind of scandal that would have made the local news—small-town tragedy wrapped in polite smiles and casseroles at the church potluck.

But no one knew that beneath the seemingly perfect ending was a woman’s suffering.

I saw now how easy it was for the world to move on, blind to the pain left in its wake.

Now, that fate had fallen on me—brought upon me by the man I loved.

My hands shook as I realized just how far Caleb’s loyalty would go, even at my expense.

No wonder he was so unwilling to remove his mask, and his voice was identical to Derek’s.

Every moment replayed in my mind, voices and faces blurring together, masks hiding truth and lies alike.

He thought he could get away with it, not knowing I’d met the main guy and could tell their scents apart.

There are some things you can’t hide—not with a mask, not with a lie, not even with love.

In the story, there was also a fiercely loyal bodyguard at the leading lady’s side—one who would pluck the stars from the sky for her if she wished.

People used to joke about it in the break room, or at the corner store—how a guy like that, so steadfast, seemed almost unreal.

Many readers joked that she might as well take the bodyguard as her lover, too.

It was the kind of speculation that kept book clubs busy and the rumor mill churning—always assuming drama where there was loyalty.

Before, Caleb told me he worked for the main guy. I didn’t think much of it—it had nothing to do with me.

I shrugged it off, figuring everyone wore a few secrets in this house. I never thought to look deeper.

Now, it turned out he was that loyal bodyguard. I’d been foolish, never investigating before falling for him.

The realization hurt. I’d let myself be swept along, blind to the roles we were all forced to play.

Fortunately, I woke up before things went too far.

I was grateful for small mercies. There was still time to carve out a piece of peace for myself, to draw a line before my heart broke completely.

Caleb was willing to disgrace himself, but I was not. Now that the main guy was on guard, he wouldn’t be fooled again.

I wouldn’t let myself be another pawn, not for anyone’s ambition or regret.

With my freedom papers and some money, I could live comfortably for the rest of my life. I was fading from this world, and all I could do was keep my distance.

I started picturing a quiet apartment somewhere—maybe a cat, maybe a job at the local bakery, where nobody knew my story. That would be enough.

To live well would be enough.

That was the dream now: peace, safety, and a life of my own.

The next day, I went to seek out the main guy for my freedom papers, but ran into Rachel, whose face was clouded with anger.

She was hacking away at the rose bushes in her garden with garden shears, muttering curses under her breath, her eyes red-rimmed from crying or lack of sleep.

Yesterday, when she tried to return to Derek’s side, he had yelled at her and sent her away. Now, her eyes were red as she hacked at the rose bushes in front of her, seething. “If it weren’t for him, how could I have stooped to such a low trick?”

She glared at the petals falling like confetti, her fury blooming brighter than any flower.

“Caleb, tell me—was I really wrong?”

Her voice wobbled, caught between pride and desperation. I watched her, half-pitying, half-afraid of what she might do next.

“You weren’t wrong.” The man’s voice was low, brimming with a love he dared not show, his gaze only a shade less intense than when he looked at me.

His voice was a rumble, meant only for her. It was a loyalty so naked it hurt to witness.

But that voice was nothing like Derek’s, yet for three years I had heard the same voice as the main guy’s.

My stomach twisted, a cold realization settling over me like a winter draft through a cracked window.

At this, my blood ran cold, my heart instantly turning to ice. So, it had all been calculated from the very beginning.

It was a cruel joke, every kindness and promise now cast in the shadow of someone else’s game.

I wanted to slip away, but my foot made a sound, drawing their attention.

The snap of a twig under my boot gave me away. I cursed myself for not being quieter, for always being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Rachel was already in a foul mood, and my appearance only fueled her anger, giving her an outlet.

Her eyes narrowed, lips curling in contempt as she turned on me.

“A maid dares knock my hairpin into the pond. If you don’t fetch it for me, I’ll break your leg!” she snapped, flinging her hairpin into the water.

She hurled it with practiced spite, her words sharp as the garden shears in her hand. The threat in her voice was as real as any slap.

Before, when the original owner was by her side, she’d been disliked for being too pretty.

Pretty girls don’t last long in houses like these, not when their beauty draws unwanted attention or envy.

Now, I’d ended up in her husband’s bed. How could she not be furious?

It was the kind of drama that could rip a family apart—or at least make for a juicy story at the next block party.

But she forgot—all of this was her own doing.

Still, she was the boss, and her word was law. After three years in this world, I understood its cruelty.

It was the golden rule of small-town life: keep the boss happy, or pay the price.

Yet I couldn’t help but look at Caleb, hoping he would help me. He knew I was terrified of water.

I caught his eye, pleading silently, but he didn’t move, didn’t even blink in my direction.

But his gaze remained fixed on Rachel, not sparing me a single glance.

It was as if I’d vanished from the room, my needs erased in the face of her pain.

I said nothing more, just stepped into the pond, one foot at a time.

The water closed over my ankles, icy and thick with mud, and every step dredged up memories I’d tried to bury.

I waded in, denim clinging to my calves, the water dark and still. Each step sent ripples across the surface, erasing the world behind me.

It was only early autumn, and the water wasn’t cold, but for someone who had nearly drowned before, it was pure torture.

My skin prickled with fear, the memory of water filling my lungs flaring up with every inch I sank deeper.

The water rose around me, my breathing grew ragged, and my vision blurred.

I kept my eyes fixed on the glint of the hairpin below, willing myself not to panic as the world narrowed to just me and the water.

In a daze, I saw Caleb rushing toward me—just as he had half a year ago, when I’d fallen in and he’d saved me.

For a fleeting second, hope flared—maybe he’d come to help, to pull me back from the brink like before.

But this time, he only passed me by, reaching out to pick a water lily.

He stepped right past me, his attention fixed on the flower, his back a cold wall between us.

It was all to please Rachel.

The gesture was for her, a token of his devotion—one more way to win her approval.

The last flicker of hope in my heart was snuffed out, leaving nothing behind.

The realization settled like a stone in my chest. Whatever we’d shared, it was over now.

I didn’t know how long I searched, my face drained of all color, but at last I returned the hairpin to Rachel.

My fingers were numb by the time I handed it over, the victory hollow.

Thinking I might still be of use, she let me go, turning to leave with Caleb.

She barely looked at me, her focus already shifting to the next crisis, her anger cooling now that she’d made her point.

I lay on the grass for a long time. When I could finally move, I went straight to the main guy for my freedom papers, not even bothering to change out of my wet clothes.

The cold clung to me, seeping into my bones, but I refused to let it slow me down. I was done waiting for someone to save me.

Seeing my bedraggled state, the main guy said nothing, but gave me extra cash along with the papers.

He pressed the envelope into my hand, his expression unreadable, but there was a hint of pity in his eyes.

Once I had what I needed, I hurried back to the little bedroom.

I took the long way, avoiding anyone who might ask questions, my only goal to gather my things and go.

Maybe he was still with Rachel, for Caleb was nowhere to be found.

The absence was a relief—a chance to leave without another confrontation, to slip away quietly.

Looking at all the little things that belonged to us, I felt nothing—just calmly packed my things.

Every mug, every threadbare shirt, every photograph was just an object now. The past was over; I was free.

I paused over the chipped mug Caleb had given me our first winter—remembered the way his hands shook when he handed it over, like he was afraid I’d say no.

Everything Caleb had given me, I left behind, including the locket I wore at my chest.

It was heavy against my collarbone—a reminder of promises broken and love misplaced.

He’d said, “This is my mother’s heirloom. Wherever it is, that’s where my heart is.”

The words echoed in my mind, but they no longer held any power.

But just now, the leading lady had one hanging from her neck, too.

Seeing it, I understood that everything had been a lie, or at least not just for me.

All his talk of never failing me in life or death was just a joke.

I slipped the locket off, leaving it on the dresser. Some things you had to let go of to move forward.

I let go, and finished packing.

I zipped my duffel shut, took a last look around the room, and steeled myself for whatever came next.

But the moment I opened the door, a pitch-black mask appeared before me.

It startled me, making me step back, but I recognized the eyes behind the mask immediately.

His scent was always unmistakable. I knew it was Caleb.

The faint mix of pine and worn leather, the same as every morning for the past three years, filled the doorway. He stood there, silent and still, blocking my escape.

But I ignored him, stepping aside to leave, only to have my arm seized.

His grip was firm, fingers warm around my wrist, and I could feel his pulse racing beneath his skin.

“Where are you going?” He stared at me, his eyes deep and anxious.

There was a wildness in his gaze, desperation and confusion tangled together, as if he’d only just realized I might actually walk away.

I tried to pull away, not wanting to say another word.

My jaw clenched, my eyes fixed on the hallway beyond, searching for freedom in the stretch of empty space.

But his grip was too strong; I couldn’t break free.

It was like being held by the past—no matter how hard I tried, it wouldn’t let go.

Thinking that we hadn’t yet dissolved our marriage, I looked him in the eyes, all the former warmth gone. “Let’s get divorced.”

His grip loosened, just a little, and for the first time, I saw fear flicker in his eyes. Was he really going to let me go?