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I snatch my phone again and call him. The trilling goes on for a long while before I end the call. He’s ashamed. Or maybe he’s sick. I wipe my eyes and open Hunter’s messaging window, which consequently has zero unread messages. Archer really put the fear in him the night we got married.

“Chuck.” I try his messaging window next.

My stomach drops when I only find one unread message.

Chuck: Whore. You just couldn’t leave him alone.

I start to type a message. But then delete it. What’s the point? He’s right on both counts. I sold myself to Archer. Even after Chuck warned me to stay away from his best friend, I crossed the line. But what was I supposed to do? Tell Archer that we couldn’t take his money because my brother called dibs on him? It’s ridiculous.

Wiping my cheeks, I realize there’s only one person who can tell me how Dad is doing. I worry about his heart. And I want him to know that I’m not angry at him. We all make mistakes. He doesn’t need to carry this much shame over what happened. I love him too much to judge him like that.

My hand trembles at the dark thoughts swirling in my head. I need a release. Without the show, what I look like doesn’t matter anymore. My fingers hover over my arm, resisting the urge. But I lose the battle quickly. I give into it and scratch the itch. I dig my nails deep until the pain replaces the anxiety building up in my chest and the tears welling in my eyes pour over my face.

“Ah.” I breathe in, but the air doesn’t reach my lungs.

I count like I’m supposed to, holding my breath. Ten, nine, eight, seven. I squeeze my eyes shut to ease the burning there, but I don’t inhale. Six, five, four…I suck in more air…three, two, one. I release it, then repeat the breathing exercise until the pressure in my chest lifts.

I have to make sure Dad knows I still love him.

Wiping my cheeks and eyes, I blink to clear my vision and then type a message to Hunter.

Me: hi, it’s me. Sorry I haven’t checked in

The three dots appear immediately, and I finally take a satisfying breath.

Hunter: you can’t text me

Me: I know. I just want to know how Dad is doing.

Hunter: how do you think? He’s destroyed. Hasn’t been to the office in weeks.

Me: is it his heart?

Hunter: it’s you, Paloma. You’re killing him. Why are you still with that brute?

Me: that was the deal

Hunter: you like being his little whore, don’t you? Your father said so. I couldn’t believe it.

Me: No, that’s not true. Can I see Dad? Would you help me?”

I wince at the choice of words. I don’t need his help because I’m not Archer’s prisoner. I can leave if I want. Can’t I? I’m his wife. He doesn’t get to say when I leave the house.

Me: I mean, I don’t have a car today. And Dad isn’t in Bedford anymore.

Hunter: Can you meet me today? I can pick you up around seven.

Crap. If I tell him I’m required to join Archer for dinner tonight, he’ll think something is wrong with my marriage. He’ll tell Dad and make things even worse.

Me: can we go now?

Hunter: I’m in the city. And I have meetings the rest of the day. Not all of us can come and go as we please, like the all-powerful Archer, you know.

Me: fine, seven works. How about we meet at the house?

Hunter: you know it isn’t your home anymore. Right?

Me: I know. I’ll wait on the driveway.