Page 1 of Stockholm (Angel of Mercy #1)

The Kept

T here used to be a time when hanging clothes out on the laundry line was a soothing ritual for me. Calm, repetitive. Even today, the breeze plays in the sheets as I pull another pin from my mouth to create a row of neat, orderly linens and garments.

Still, something feels off.

My mother used to claim that you could smell sunshine on clothes that were hung to dry outside.

Despite having the money to pay someone to complete the task for her, it was something she never stopped doing for my father—one of many things she did around the house to cater to him, to create the perfect home.

As a young girl, I’d filled my days watching her, listening to her dictate how important it would be for me to do the same things for my future husband and family.

To make sure they had the absolute best.

My little face watched eagerly from my perch in the laundry basket as I studied her hanging my childhood dresses and Daddy’s socks.

Admittedly, Eric doesn’t notice the smell of sunshine on the clothes I pull from the line and fold into his dresser, so maybe that was one of Mother’s lies.

He’s more of a visual creature. The sight of me with the hot, summer air flirting with the hem of my dress, almost always wins me his attention, so that before I can finish hanging the full basket, I’m whisked away to be taken sweetly on our freshly made bed.

Lately, however, there’s an unsettling burn on the back of my neck when I’m at the clothesline. Almost as if there are eyes trained on me. Again . But when I hesitate, gathering the courage to peek over my shoulder, the road beyond our yard is always empty.

Thick swatches of pine trees outline our acre lot, and the soothing calls of the birds make it feel as if everything’s just fine.

Surely, they’d fall quiet if something hid within the woods.

All I see when I scan my surroundings is the gorgeous, two-story Craftsman style home of my dreams, outlined with my flower garden.

The clothesline at the back of the yard is nearly hidden from view if you drive past on the main road, by design.

Eric bought this house with our privacy in mind, as well as it being a safe place for us to raise our family.

Once we have one, that is.

There’s a sting to that thought, so I quickly release it.

Once the basket is empty, I toss the netted bag of remaining clothespins into it and carry it on my hip back toward the house, brushing my strawberry blonde hair from my eyes.

Sparing a final glance behind me, I shut the screen door and turn for the laundry room.

But I hesitate, that burning feeling of eyes still hot on my neck, and return a moment later to place the hook on the latch.

The rest of the afternoon slips away as I work through the daily chore list so deeply ingrained in my mind. By now, the routine of caring for the house and Eric is almost a thoughtless process, just something that my body does day in and day out, leaving my head free to daydream.

My thirtieth birthday is on the horizon, a thick red circle on the calendar hanging by my desk.

The last day of September. A week before that, Eric and I will celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary.

Off in a corner of my mind, I’m planning the dinner, the groceries I’ll need to buy, and what needs done in the spare room to prepare for Eric’s family to come stay with us.

My stomach sours at the thought, which it tends to do whenever I think of my in-laws.

Their quarterly visits are always cold and stilted, and I hate the feeling in my home when it’s tainted with any kind of bad energy.

The home my husband sought out and bought for me, my safe place in a world that often feels too harsh.

I’d never say the words out loud, but Eric’s parent’s relationship with him is very…

fitting with him being an only child—and a son on top of that.

His mother dotes on him the entirety of their stay, questioning how he’s holding up as if I don’t exist to take care of him.

On the other hand, his dad spends the visit bragging about his most recent business ventures and asking Eric a million questions about his, and the chain of banks that they’re working to expand.

It’s always conversations of money or when we’ll provide them with a grandchild. Counting the hours until they leave, usually helps me get through until they do.

But I love Eric, and sitting through their visit with a gracious smile on my face is one of the things I do to show appreciation for him. His long hours at work provide the soft life I have here, and he still comes home at the end of the day with a smile on his face and eyes only for me.

It’s a stroke of luck on my end. Mom had taught me from childhood all the ways to help me make a great match. We both knew I would marry into a high status family, there was no question about that. Love is not a factor in these unions, just money, she had forewarned me.

So for Eric? I’m incredibly grateful.

A tiny bell sounds, and soft fur rubs against my ankle.

Drying my hands on the dish towel, I crouch down to pick up my Tabby cat, Molly.

She purrs against my chest, and I absentmindedly scratch her ears as I check the time.

Eric will be home any minute, and my eye draws to the road to watch for his car in the break of the treeline.

The roast dinner I’d prepared is ready on the stove top, and I head up to our bedroom, setting Molly on the quilt and turning to the mirror by the window.

Brushing my hair back into a clip, I take a moment to reapply my lipstick and change into a fresh dress for dinner, adding the tastefully small leather braided bracelet Eric had brought home from his last work trip to my wrist. The hint of a smirk tugs at my lips as I select a yellow sundress.

Mom had always required a more formal outfit for dinner, but Eric likes this type best and it always leads him picking me up and carrying me giggling to our bedroom.

The crunch of gravel sounds from outside the open window and I turn to check for him, picking up Molly as I go. The black BMW pulls out of my view to the side of the house, and I head downstairs to greet Eric at the screen door.

Sunlight pours in the windows on the west side of the house, the long days in their final stretch before it turns to fall weather.

It’s my favorite time of year, the rays lighting the warm wood of the first floor as I set the table for dinner.

Before bed, we’ll head to the deck for an evening in the shade of the evergreens.

The side door opens and I set Molly down, turning to peck Eric sweetly on the cheek. I look up at him, and he takes my face in his hands, kissing my forehead like he does everyday. It never fails to make me smile, and I imagine it never will.

“How are my girls today?” he asks, leaning down to pet Molly’s ears. She stalks away like a brat and I giggle.

“It was good. The usual, but Molly here brought me a nice mouse as a gift early this morning. Didn’t you, sweetheart?” I coo at her as she hides behind a chair, tail twitching.

Eric wrinkles his nose, heading to the stairs to change out of his work clothes. “Emma, that cat is a menace.”

I wink at her and smile, moving to place dinner on the table as he changes. Menace, perhaps. But Molly is often my only company during the long days here at home and I love her for it.

The window is cracked in the kitchen as I busy myself setting the table, and I look up to see the birds playing in the corner of the yard I’ve filled with stone baths and feeders.

The noise of their banter ceases and I freeze as they fly away.

I tilt my head to look in both directions, searching for the disturbance that scared them off .

There’s nothing there. The yard is empty, glowing in the same sunset colors as every other evening.

I’m losing it. Too much time by myself. I need to invite Bo over for an evening of books and movies before I completely lose my mind.

Brushing my bangs out of my eyes, I replace my smile as I hear Eric heading back down the stairs.

By the time I turn toward him, I look as if everything is perfect.