Page 55 of Do You Remember?

He looks up from his plate. “Yes?”

“We don’t… I mean, do we... have children?”

“Do youseeany children in this house?”

“No, but…” I attempt to stab a piece of sausage with my fork—it’s been overcooked so badly, it’s shriveled. “I always wanted kids. I would’ve thought… I mean, if we’re married…”

He chews on a bite of his sausage. “We tried to have kids. But the doctor said you were infertile.”

I suck in a breath. “Oh… but… aren’t there treatments for infertility?”

He lifts a shoulder. “You know how you are. You were always scared of going to the doctor because of whathappened with your mom. And you’re terrified of needles. So we decided not to do IVF. You said it was fine just the two of us.”

“Oh…”

Of course, I knew we didn’t have children. It was fairly obvious. But to find out that we couldn’t, that we would never…

But what does it matter? It’s not like I’m in any shape to take care of a child like I am now. It’s a blessing we never ended up having kids.

Graham goes to the refrigerator and opens up the door. He pulls out a container of blood-red liquid. I watch in fascination as he pours a heaping glass of it.

“What’sthat?” I ask.

“Pomegranate juice.” He deposits the glass on the table. “You love this stuff. You drink like two glasses of it every morning.”

“I do?” The drink in front of me looks utterly unappealing. “Are you sure?”

He winks at me. “Which one of us has memory loss? Trust me. This is your favorite thing in the whole world.”

“No, thanks. I’d just like a cup of coffee.”

“Come on. You don’t want your favorite drink?”

I press my fingertips against the glass, pushing it several inches away from me. “Just coffee. Please.”

“Fine,” he grumbles.

Graham stomps across the kitchen to the fancy coffee machine that has more control buttons than our shower. He gets the coffee brewing, and I make a point of pushing that awful drink he poured me a few more inches away fromme. That looksawful—I don’t even want it near me.

Graham returns to the kitchen island. His eyes stray down to the glass of red liquid. “You really don’t want it?”

“No thanks.”

“It’s expensive, you know.”

I don’t know what to say. Based on the appearance of this house, we can afford to waste a glass of juice. “You can have it if you want.”

Graham grumbles to himself as he swipes the full glass of pomegranate juice off the table and pours the contents into the sink, staining the bottom of the sink a deep red color. My stomach turns at the sight of it. Then he slams the glass down on the kitchen counter.

I don’t know why he’s acting this way. I didn’t do anything that horrible—I just refused a glass of juice. Why is he throwing a tantrum? This doesn’t seem like normal behavior.

The letter I wrote to myself says he’s a good guy. He’s myhusband.

But I don’t trust him.

Chapter 28

All morning, I’ve been sitting on the sofa, flipping through the channels on the television, feeling increasingly claustrophobic. I would love to go outside and take a walk, but Graham made it clear this morning that I couldn’t go outside alone. He said it wasn’t safe.