JACKSON

The one-syllable word that comes from April's mouth isn't loud, but it resounds throughout the room as if she'd dropped a bomb. It shifts the atmosphere and knocks me off my axis; it definitely wasn't what I expected to hear. I wasn't necessarily looking for an all-encompassing 'yes,' but a downright refusal was nowhere in my realm of thought. I knew it come as a shock to her, but I thought there would be questions to follow. Not a one-word response.

I blink hard and continue to stare at her face. She's unmoving, maybe not even breathing. She's stubborn, I'm aware, but I thought it would be different - telling her here. We've acted in a way that's so unlike how we were back home and I was beginning to enjoy it. I don't feel so tied down, so obligated to behave a certain way. I'm free in a way I'm not in Chicago. I thought telling her here would ensure a more positive reaction, or at least a conducive environment in which we could discuss things. She doesn't seem to want a conversation, though - I can tell by the look in her eyes. The expression is flighty; irises darting every which way while unable to land on my face. Things are no longer the way they were just moments ago.

I open my mouth to try and get to the bottom of it, though. But instead of letting me speak, she fills the space instead. "I'm not ready," she says, the words tumbling from her mouth without any control. "I'm just not ready, I'm so young," she continues. "I'm only 21, Jackson. Do you know how much that is to expect of me?" She shakes her head and makes a sound of discontentment. "This marriage isn't even real; how can you expect me to shoulder something like that?"

There's a pang in my chest that leaves behind a lingering ache. I know better than anyone else that our marriage wasn't serendipity or dependent on love or mutual attraction - it was arranged out of monetary need alone. I was starting to think it could be molded into something else and that we were on our way there, but she just made it blatantly clear that thought process is wrong. "You agreed to it," I say, perturbed. "You agreed to our marriage, and you've enjoyed sitting pretty, haven't you?" I pinch my lips and feel my jaw tighten, a surefire sign that my anger is rising. She's still under me, though, naked and vulnerable. She's made no move to sit up.

"I guess I didn't know what I was agreeing to," she says, swiping a bit of hair out of her eyes. "You made sure that I didn't."

My stomach churns hearing her talk like that. I thought we were done with this fight. I thought we'd surpassed arguing over this topic, but I suppose I was wrong. Maybe this is something we'll always revolve around. It'll be the underlying topic of our marriage that eventually rips us to shreds. Though, that can't happen. A divorce is nowhere in the cards for us. "Well, if you want to see any of the money in the second half of the inheritance, it has to happen someday," I say. "I'm willing to wait - the contract is willing to wait as well."

"It doesn't matter how long you wait," she says, lifting my hands away from her body. I hadn't realized I'd still been touching her; it's turned into something of a habit. "I won't ever be ready. I'm never having kids, Jackson."

I squint and my lips part a bit, floored and confused. "Why?" I ask.

She sits up, covering her chest with both hands as if I'm not allowed to see her anymore. It doesn't matter, I've already memorized her, but I don't like the fact that she no longer feels comfortable. I can only hope that she doesn't regret what we did, because I surely don't. "You should've made sure your bride wanted kids before you tied the knot," she says, slipping out of bed and into a thin, airy robe. "This isn't my fault."

"But why?" I say, following her with my eyes. "Won't you just give me a reason so we can talk about it?"

"I don't owe you anything," she says, tightening the robe.

"April," I say, voice growing firmer. She doesn't know how badly she's upsetting me and I'd like to keep it that way. I wish she would just open up so we could discuss this, but her walls have already been rebuilt. I don't know what I did to cause it, but I want to find out so we can work through it. She seems to be dead-set against that idea, though.

"No," she says, holding up a flat hand. "I'm going to sleep in the other room."

"April," I say, trying again. I don't fully recognize myself at the moment - I don't grovel or beg people for their attention. But my wife seems to have turned my values and beliefs on their heads.

"I said no, Jackson!" she exclaims, and my eyes widen. "Goodnight. Do not follow me."

After she leaves, I lie there in the wake of her words and feel my skin get hot. Completely naked, I feel exposed in more ways than one. I pull on a pair of boxers and cross my arms, eyebrows deeply furrowed, and stand in front of the French doors that lead to an immaculate view of the ocean. But without April by my side, somehow the vista isn't as breathtaking as it was before. I exhale and close my eyes for an extended moment, wondering if everything I shared with her was a mistake.

She reciprocated, but only with the bare minimum. She didn't explain her illegal surgery, but maybe she shouldn't be expected to. It was likely a traumatizing experience that she doesn't want to relive, and I would never ask that of her. I just want her to share her life with me as I shared mine with her. I don't think that's too much to ask of the person to whom I'm married. I know forcing her hand isn't the answer, but I was completely and utterly honest with her - and that took a lot of courage on my part. There's usually always something more with me, something else, something I keep for myself. But with her, I didn't want the holds barred any longer. I wanted to share everything because I didn't think I would regret it. But I was wrong. I do find myself regretting it now, because reciprocation on her part was nonexistent. So now, I've been left hanging - and that's not a feeling I'm partial to.

I stay on the balcony for hours, it seems, staring at the waves and wondering if there's a way to take tonight back. The sex we had was indefinitely the spark to my emotions pouring out, and though I don't have any desire to take it back, if I could, I know I should. Things would be better if feelings between us wouldn't have escalated to a fever pitch. I clearly wasn't thinking straight. How could I when she was standing before me in nothing but a lacy set of lingerie? The attraction is blatantly obvious. I'm not a robot - I'm a hot-blooded man with needs, and April is who I wanted to fulfill those needs with. I shouldn't have given in, though. Turning the controls over to the heart instead of the head never leads to a positive outcome.

I should've waited to tell her about the heir, though the timing seemed right. In that moment, I felt safe and I told her that I trusted her. I told her not because I was painting a facade, but because I meant it. Post-coitus, looking into her hazel eyes, everything felt locked in place. None of it felt like a sham. My emotions have never toiled with me so mercilessly. I'll do my best to never allow them to again, though I'm not sure how strong that statement will hold once I spend time around her again.

She does things to me that I don't like admitting to. I don't like coming around to the fact that I tend to soften around her. I don't soften for anyone - at least, I didn't used to. I have no idea how one small redhead could have so much power over me. She's much more dangerous than she realizes.

I lie down after a significant amount of time has passed and sleep only for a few hours before the sun rises. I get up as it slips over the horizon and exit the master bedroom to see that breakfast has already been delivered and April is on the main balcony with it. I falter at the sight of her, taken aback at how beautiful she is without trying. I have no idea how, in the beginning, I thought she was common at best. Now, she takes my breath away with her red, ocean-swept waves and freckled skin, not to mention the slopes of her breasts peeking through the opening of her robe. I doubt she wants to see me, so I'm in the process of turning around to retreat into the bedroom when her voice sounds. "Good morning, Jackson," she says, tone lilting over the crash of the waves just feet away.

I'm not used to being the one with lesser control between the two of us, but that's definitely where I stand at the moment. She's looking my way with clear eyes and a mug in her hands, blinking slowly and soberly. She seems different than last night; more like the April I've gotten to know in the Maldives rather than the one in Chicago. "Good morning," I say, approaching her.

I sit at the table and stay quiet, but she fills the silence. "There's breakfast," she says, motioning towards everything laid before us. "I waited for you."

"I hope not long," I say, lifting the lid of a tray to dish us both some eggs. I give her most of the bacon, knowing full well how much she likes it, and split the pineapple between us.

"No," she says. "The sun woke me up."

"Me, too," I say.

We're quiet for a beat, taking the first bites of food. She chew thoughtfully, watching the water before saying, "I'm sorry for how I acted last night. Or rather, how I reacted."

I nod, taking a sip of coffee. I've never tasted better coffee in my life, and it rejuvenates me in a way I badly need. "It's something we'll have to continue to discuss," I say, not pressing the issue but not letting it alone, either. I'm not willing to back down just because we fought, and she should know as much.

She nods subtly, tilting her chin as she reorients herself. She doesn't answer, but she doesn't refute me, either. I take that as a good sign. "It's a beautiful day," she comments.

"I doubt there's such thing as a gloomy one here," I say, smiling.

"You're probably right."

I clear my throat, chewing a forkful of eggs. "Did you sleep well?" I ask.

She tears her eyes away from the water to center on me - giving a look that both shakes and grounds me at once. "No," she says. "Did you?"

I shake my head. "Not at all."

She traces the rim of her mug with one finger, eyes downcast but unable to find a place to land. "I… I missed having you next to me."

"I missed that, too," I admit. I've gotten so used to holding her small body against my own, seeking her out in the cool darkness and finding solace in her, no matter how involuntary. The fact that I couldn't do as much last night was unsettling.

"But I needed space," she says, lifting her gaze. "And you have to understand that."

"I do," I say.

"Okay," she says, shoulders relaxing a bit. "I'll sleep with you tonight." The apples of her cheeks flush pink. "Sleep… in the bed. With you tonight, together. I want to sleep in our - the… our bed."

"Of course you should," I say, making a bold move and reaching across the table to overlap her hand with mine.

She meets my eyes, hers warm. She flips her hand so the palm is up and caresses my skin in the soft way she does, melting me. I don't know how she has this much of a hold over me, but it's undeniable. "Then I will," she whispers, lifting my hand to kiss the knuckles.

I've never been so confused in my life and I don't think there's a place to begin in asking questions. I come to terms with the fact that things between us will have to be figured out in their own time, whenever that time may be.

…

We decide that it's a perfect day for the beach, and to say I was unprepared for the way April looks in her bikini would be an understatement. It's peach-colored, going perfectly with her hair and skin, with a bandeau top and low-cut bottoms. She keeps pulling at the material as we walk along the sand, which tells me she's anything but used to wearing something like it. "I really don't think it's supposed to fit like this," she says. "You got me a size too small."

"I didn't," I say, snaking an arm around her shoulders. "That's just the style."

"What, for it to literally go inside my ass?" she shrills, still wriggling.

"Yes," I say, "Precisely."

"No, that can't be right."

"Well, stop and let me see, then," I say, halting my steps. She does, too, crossing her arms as I walk behind her.

"See?" she says. "I told you, it's wrong."

"It's not wrong at all," I say, letting my eyes graze over her curves that have filled out subtly since living with me. It's heartening to see her looking so healthy without bones sticking out where they shouldn't.

"Then what are you doing back there?" she quips.

"Just taking a look at you," I say, patting her butt before walking alongside her again.

"Jackson Avery!" she says, scowling playfully. She smacks my arm and I laugh, happy that we're finding the way back to where we'd found ourselves hours before.

We get settled on a spot near the water, completely secluded and alone. I sit in a beach chair with a pair of sunglasses on as April busies herself in the sand doing who-knows-what, wearing a wide-brimmed beach hat and allowing her freckles to bloom. All I do is watch her as she soaks up the sun and experiences a carefree lifestyle she's never known; I can see the joy on her face when she tilts it towards the sky. She grins to herself, patting the sand, and I can't hold back any longer. I need her close to me. "Sweet pea," I say, and she perks up instantly, looking over her shoulder. "Come here," I say with a jerk of my head.

Much to my luck, she stands without a fight or look of indignance. She ducks under the umbrella and sits on my lap comfortably after I welcome her, back against my chest with my arms wound around her middle. "Here," she says, taking off her hat so it's not shoved in my face. She fluffs her hair and rests her head on my shoulder, blinking up at me with a smile. "There. Isn't that better?"

"Much," I say, tightening my arms and enjoying the view of her face in such close proximity. I could count every freckle if I wanted to, her eyelashes are long and free of makeup, and the color of her lips is the most perfect shade of pink I've ever seen. Her skin is clear of any blemishes and I can even see the peach fuzz on her earlobes. She's nothing short of precious, and I have no idea when I started entertaining thoughts like this. She kisses what she can reach, which happens to be my chin, then looks towards the water with a content expression on her face. I follow her lead and look that way, too, resting my head against her while tracing the low band of her bikini bottoms.

She holds my wrists while letting my hands continue their pattern, her body relaxing further against mine in a way I can't help but enjoy. She sighs softly, belly expanding as she does, and I smile to myself. "It's so pretty," she says. "I really can't get over it."

I set my chin on her shoulder, admiring the same view she is. I nod and know she feels it, then run my thumb along the scar she went into light detail over last night. "April," I say, lips barely moving because of the position of my chin. "Baby, where did they take you to get the surgery done?"

Contrasting her lax body from moments before, April stiffens and subtly shifts her hands so they're underneath mine and I can no longer touch her stomach. Instead, much like instances prior, she protects it. "I don't remember," she mutters. "It was a long time ago."

"Oh," I say. "I was just curious. When we get back, I can take you to the best doctor in the city. That way, she can check if there are any lasting effects that should be taken care of."

"No," she says. "You don't need to do that."

"I think it's something valid to be worried about, though," I say, wondering why it wouldn't be on her mind if she had the surgery performed under the table. "Don't you want to confirm that you're 100% recovered?"

"I'm fine, Jackson," she insists. "I'm just fine, okay? I don't need you to worry about me. I can take care of myself."

"I never said you couldn't," I point out. "Why do you get so defensive about this?"

She frowns and turns to look at me, her face only centimeters from mine. "Because you act like you know me better than I know myself, and that's just not true," she says.

"I'm not trying to make it seem like that at all," I claim.

"Well, that's how it comes off," she murmurs.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I just ask because I care about you. Honestly, that's all."

She nods to herself, turning to face forward again. I stay looking at her face, though, studying the slopes and small details. I lean in and nuzzle her cheek with the tip of my nose and notice it gets a small smile out of her, so I do it again, but with my lips this time. I move lower to the corner of her jaw, then the spot on her neck that always makes her bend it because she's ticklish. "Jackson," she says softly, lifting her shoulder as I kiss the sensitive skin. "Jackson."

"Hmm," I murmur, my lips against her shoulder now.

"Stop," she says, moving to hold my head with one arm, her elbow under my chin.

"You don't want that," I murmur teasingly, looking at her with only my eyes.

She turns back to me finally, situating so we can sit face-to-face. Then, she cups my jaw with both hands and closes her eyes, rubbing her nose against mine, and kisses me full on the mouth.

What surges through my chest afterwards is something scarily akin to love.

…

When we get home, April decides to take a nap but I decline the invitation to join her. It's not that I don't want to be with her, but I'm not tired and I know for a fact my restlessness would only keep her up. So, I stay near the shore as she disappears inside to lie down, only going in a couple hours later when I'm sure she'll be awake.

The silence of the cabana tells me differently, though, and I smile to myself because of it. I don't bother calling out her name - she's grown to be quite a heavy sleeper and I find it endearing. I peer into the master bedroom only to have my suspicions confirmed - there she lies, sprawled out wearing nothing but a pair of purple boyshort underwear. She's on her back with one arm thrown over her head and the other slung across her waist, breathing so deeply that her hand rises and falls with each inhale and exhale. Her hair is fanned around her head, not on the pillow as she's positioned directly in the middle of the bed, with a few strands strewn about her face. Her lips are parted just slightly, her skin dewy because of the humidity, and I have the unrelenting urge to draw her.

So, I do it. I find the nearest paper that I can, which happens to be a resort notepad, and pick up the felt-tip pen alongside it. I don't bother moving to sit down, lest I disturb her, and begin to draw the first picture I've done in years. My eyes shift between my subject and the depiction, getting lost in the shape of her body and all of its rounds and edges. I've just gotten to the slight swell of her hips when she stirs, breathing deeply as her eyelids flutter. Immediately, I set the notepad down and walk closer, wanting to be the first thing she sees when she wakes up. "Hi," I say, smiling easily. My blood flows freer - the artistic muscle flexing and strengthening from what she's able to inspire within me. "You slept for a long time."

She reaches both arms above her head, flattening her breasts as I try not to glance at them. She closes her eyes and clenches her jaw with the stretch, then opens them to look right at me. "Did I miss dinner?" she asks.

I shake my head. "It's not for an hour or so."

"Good," she says, pushing her hair out of her face. "Then you can join me."

"Oh, I'm not tired," I say.

"Not to sleep," she says with a glint in her eyes. I frown, confused by what I think she's suggesting. I don't get time to clarify, though, because she spots the notepad a few feet away and grabs it before I have a say in the matter. "Oh…" she gasps, cheeks turning red. "Is this… is this me?"

"I didn't finish," I mumble. I don't know how I feel about her seeing it at all, no less before it's complete. "I'm rusty. It's not… you just looked so perfect."

She chews on her bottom lip, eyes roving all over the paper. "This can't be me," she murmurs.

"It is," I say. "I saw you, and… I just had to. I hope you don't mind. If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't do it again."

"No," she says quickly. "It doesn't… it…" She shakes her head. "I just can't believe the way you see me." She tears her eyes from the paper and meets mine, turning the notepad so I can see it. She points to the picture, as if I need specification. "She's beautiful," she says.

"Well, she's you," I say. "That's not just how I see you. You are beautiful, April. I just drew you how you are in your natural state."

"That's not true," she says, flipping the pad around to look at it again. "I just don't think it can be." She pauses for a while and smirks, lips pulling up a bit. Then, she whispers, "Were my nipples actually that hard, or was that just creative license?"

I chuckle. "The breeze helped," I say. She sets it to the side and beckons me forward, widening her arms to welcome my body. I'm not sure how to respond, given how poorly last night finished, but I can't do much in resisting her. "Are you sure?" I ask.

"You can't expect me to keep my hands off of you when you say such enchanting things to me, Mr. Avery," she says, lighting every one of my senses on fire.

I smile against her lips, kissing her slowly. "I just want to make sure it's what you want," I say. I want to be clearer, but I'm not sure how without shattering this moment. What I want to say is: I want our intimacy to be unguarded, I don't want to pleasure you and be pleasured in return just for the sake of physical enjoyment. I want it to mean something. I want last night to have meant something. I don't want you to regret this as soon as it's over - I want to lie here and soak it up with you. I want to hear your secrets as you've heard mine. I want you to trust me and I know you don't. But I don't say any of that, because I can't. I'm too swept up in her.

"It is what I want," she whispers, lips moving against my neck before moving to my collarbones. "And I want your clothes off, too." I'm not usually the one who's told what to do in the bedroom; that role is typically reversed. But with April, everything is different. I follow her lead and allow myself to fall.

She makes sure I have a condom before I reunite with her body, and once I do, we both feel the powerful, heady sensation that comes along with it. A surge of emotion courses through me as she wraps her limbs around my body, and I bury my face in her neck to hide them. Those feelings are not what she wants. She wants bodily contact, so I give her that and leave it to only that. There won't be any further expressions from my heart and no more deep secrets spilled, not until she joins me on that front. But until then - because I'm sure the day will come when she'll tell me more about her surgery and how it makes her feel - I can give her this. I'm glad to give her this.

"Oh, Jackson," she moans, and I close my eyes because of how sweet my name sounds coming from her lips. She lifts her pelvis to meet mine and I look at her face, framing it with one hand as I pump powerfully in and out of her. I love the way her body responds, shifting upwards on the mattress as I'm all the way in, and slackening when I pull out. She loses her breath with every thrust, extending her neck to expose her throat, and I take advantage of the position and suck hard on her pulse point until she starts to shake. I take pride in the fact that I didn't even use my fingers, and I love that I'm getting to know her body better.

"You're close," I say, hitching one of her legs higher with a hand under her sweaty knee. "Come on, sweet pea. Come for me."

"Oh, god," she groans, taking a heaving breath while tossing her head to one side. "Do you know how much I love hearing that?"

Feeling a sense of renewed accomplishment, I push that same button and say it again. "Come for me, sweet pea," I murmur, lips moving against her ear. "I wanna feel you come while I'm inside you."

That's what does it - what pushes her over the edge and makes her whole body vibrate and twitch with a long-lasting orgasm. She grips my shoulders and digs her fingers in, gritting her teeth before letting her jaw go slack so a drawn-out moan can tumble out. "Oh, baby," she whimpers, urging me along with her heels against my ass. "Oh, Jesus, baby… that felt amazing. You are amazing."

She holds my face as I work up to my own climax, thumbs on my cheekbones as our noses and foreheads press against one another. The movement of my hips becomes more erratic as I get closer, and I know she can tell by the way the light in her eyes changes. I smile breathlessly, shoving my hips harder against hers, and she takes it in stride, closing her eyes with the feeling. "Shit," I murmur, tension gathering in my groin.

She kisses me hard, centering me in place. "There it is," she breathes. "Just come, baby. Give it to me… you're almost there."

My eyes roll back as her words push me over and I spill everything I have inside her receptive heat. I plant kisses everywhere that I can reach, licking the droplets of sweat rolling down her neck and chest. I suck on her nipples hastily as I make my way down her body and ignore the scar entirely, not wanting to mar this moment even with thoughts of it. Instead, I find a home between her thighs and give her two more orgasms before dinner.

…

The remainder of the week flies by too quickly and before we know it, we're on the private plane headed back home. There's something on April's mind, that much I can tell, though she won't say what. I've only asked once and gotten shot down, so I haven't tried again. I don't want to pry, and I'd like to keep the faith that she'll tell me in due time, when she's ready.

We don't speak much on the way to Chicago. She's quiet until she falls asleep, and does so facing the window instead of cuddled up to me like she did the first time. I debate whether or not to wake her to situate her more comfortably, but I lose and end up keeping my hands to myself. She wants her space - she needs it. She had asked me to understand that concept before, so I'll do my best now.

She stares out the car window on the way home and takes my hand once we arrive. Everything is settling back in the way they were, a stark contrast to how we had acted in the Maldives. There was no pretending there - everything was authentic. We had real discussions, real fights, and real sex. Here, everything is hidden under a very shiny veneer. It's one that I've grown used to for most of my life, but having it stripped away for the first time was refreshing. It makes me want to see less of it, but I'm not sure how to make that happen.

As we're unpacking, April is still silent. She's sitting on the edge of the bed with her suitcase unzipped, one hand inside, unmoving. Finally, I can't bear to watch her anymore. I have to ask. "April, what's wrong?" I say. "There's something on your mind. Will you tell me what it is?"

For the first time all day, she snaps out of her reverie and meets my eyes. Though we're making contact, she still doesn't feel present. There's a cloudiness to her eyes that separates her from me and it's disturbing. "I'm okay," she murmurs, but there's pain laced in her voice.

"No, you're not," I say.

She blinks hard and rises closer to the surface, even if by an inch. It takes her a while to respond, but eventually she does. "I'm… no, I'm not," she says, clearing her throat. I'm anxious for what she'll say next, because I've finally gotten her to admit she's not well. We're one step closer. "I just… do you think we could go see my family?" she asks, eyes growing glassy. "I think it would help if I could see them. I miss them. I would like to see them."

"Of course," I say. "Let's go now."

It surprises her that I waste no time, but it shouldn't. If it's what will make her happy - or at least get her out of her head - then I'm glad to do it. Venturing to Lincoln Park as soon as we landed wasn't number one on my to-do list, but it's of no matter. If it's important and if it will help her, then we'll do it.

April's steps are light as she bounds up the front steps, leaving me in the dust as she goes. Her skirt bounces as do the curls in her hair; even the way she knocks on the door is jovial. I feel a pit in my stomach - does it really make her so unhappy to be with me? Her actions contrast each other so starkly - one moment she'll be completely blissed out and content in my presence, and the next it seems as if she's dying to be anywhere else. Right now feels more like the latter, like I'm an afterthought or a bug she wishes would die already. I don't belong here during this reunification and I almost excuse myself to the car, but Karen spots us before I can.

"Oh!" she enthuses. "Would you look who's come to pay us a visit. The Averys are here!"

"Mom," April says, but my chest swells at her words. I feel proud that April and I are lumped together, being the married couple that we are. Not only that, I'm proud that she's donned my last name.

"Come here. Give me a hug," Karen says, and sweeps her daughter into her arms. Immediately after April's turn is finished, she beckons me over and pats my back with surprising strength. "Come in!" she insists. "The girls are at a friend's house for a sleepover. But Libby is in the kitchen making spaghetti! We'd love it if you'd stay."

April looks to me for confirmation, though she needn't do so. I nod anyway, being that the former answer is too much for words, and she smiles widely. "We'd love to," she says.

Karen leads the way inside, saying, "You two just got back from the fancy Maldives, didn't you? I can tell, April. Your freckles are out."

"I put on sunscreen," April says. "And I wore a hat."

"Better than that one summer you got sun poisoning," Libby quips, laughing from where she stands near the stove.

"Yeah, yeah, we don't bring that up," April says, rolling her eyes as she leans on the counter. "Can I help?"

"Oh, no," Karen says. "Libby has it. You just got off a plane! You should relax."

"No, really," April says. "I wanna help."

"Make the salad then," Libby says. "All the ingredients are in the fridge."

April spins around without so much as a glance my way, and I find myself feeling incredibly invisible. It's not a common feeling for me - transparency - and I'm not frequently ignored. But April has made it clear that she's not here to pay attention to me. I shouldn't have come. I feel less than welcome until Karen makes it a point to acknowledge my existence. "Jackson," she says. "Since these two are so hard at work, why don't we go have a sit?" I smile cordially, hoping that my gratitude shows. "Call us when it's ready, girls," she says.

We move to the living room and sit down, silence finding its way between us for a few long moments. I'm not sure what to say - I don't sit and have conversations like this with my mother. Comfortable ones, as we wait for dinner to be made. We have business meetings that last for an allotted amount of time, nothing comfortable. I don't know where to begin, but luckily Karen does. "So, your honeymoon," she says, eyebrows up. "How did it go?" She pauses for a moment and ties the question with, "You can be honest."

Her last statement forces me to recall that she knows none of this is real. Or rather, that it's not supposed to be. "It was very nice," I say. "It was beautiful. We had a wonderful time. I'd never been to the islands before, so it was lovely to experience them together."

She tips her head, giving me a look that I've seen on April before. Dubious, scrutinizing. She can see right through me. She and her daughter are one in the same on that front. "Jackson," she says. "How about you tell me how it really went."

I blink hard, balking. I see where April inherited her boldness, too. "I…" I begin, but find myself falling short. I laugh uncomfortably, saying, "Well, I honestly couldn't very well tell you how it went."

She frowns a bit. "What do you mean by that?"

I sigh deeply. "I mean…" I say. "I usually tend to be a good reader of people. But your daughter has sufficiently confused me. Once I'm convinced I know what she's thinking, she throws me for a loop."

Karen smiles gently. "I know exactly what you mean."

"I told her things," I say, pausing while giving her a pointed look. The look means - I told April things, but I don't plan on telling you. So, please, don't ask. I can only hope she interprets it in the correct manner. "Important things. Things I hold very dear. And, in turn, she told me a personal secret, too. One I hadn't been expecting, honestly." Karen's face turns ashen. Her lips part and the expression in her eyes changes to something I can't put my finger on - maybe something close to fear. Apprehension, at the very least. "It took so much to get it out of her," I say. "And still, she won't elaborate."

Karen clears her throat. "You said April is hard to read," she says, and I nod. "She wasn't always that way, you know. Well… because of what she told you about. It changed her, Jackson. You and I can't imagine how that changes a person."

I nod slowly, trying to piece the information together. "I'm sure it was traumatic," I say. "But wasn't there any other way? I understand, it was an emergency, but there must have been something. I just keep picturing April being cut open on a metal slab in a dark alley, appendix being sliced out of her with a kitchen knife. It's a horrible image, so of course, I can't come close to imagining how it was to live through. But why won't she tell me details? I would like to get her the best help available."

Karen's face shifts again, this time morphing through a myriad of emotions before settling on pure and honest confusion. "Excuse me," she says, eyebrows lowering. "What? An appendix?"

I nod slowly, now confused as well. "Yes…" I say. "She needed her appendix removed when she was younger and had to have surgery done under the table in order to fulfill the procedure, since your family couldn't afford it. Nor do I assume you had insurance. But what I'm worried about is the after-effects, and how it could be impacting her n-"

"Jackson," Karen says, cutting me off with a swift movement of her hand. "April never had appendix surgery under the table. That didn't happen - it's not true."

I squint, thoroughly in the dark now. "Then why would she tell me as much?" I ask. "You'll have to excuse me, but I'm lost. She told me the scar on her lower abdomen is from a rudimentary surgery. For appendix removal."

Now, Karen's eyes are guarded and she's backed away slightly. "No," she says, shaking her head. "No, my daughter has never had that kind of surgery. That's not what the scar is from."

I take a deep breath, huffing air from my nose violently. "Then what is it from?" I ask.

"It's not my place to tell you," Karen says sadly. "I'm sorry, honey. Like I said, she…" Her sentence breaks as she trails off and she doesn't finish. "I'm sorry."

I stand up from the couch in a hurry, straightening my clothes once I'm at full height. "Pardon me," I say, nodding curtly. I walk with long strides back into the kitchen and know Karen is on my heels, anticipating what's about to happen.

April turns around once she hears my entrance and looks at me with wide eyes. "What's wrong?" she asks.

"I'll be at home," I say, clenching my fists so my hands don't shake. "I assume I'll see you there later."

I turn on my heel and walk towards the door, hearing footsteps follow. When my hand touches the doorknob, a different hand touches the inside of my elbow and turns me around with no force at all. Suddenly, I'm looking into my wife's puzzled and determined face. "What is going on, Jackson?" she asks. "Are you sick?"

"I'm not sick," I say, shaking her hand off of my arm.

"Then what is wrong with you?"

I stare at her hard, knowing she must feel the singe of my eyes. "You know how important honesty is to me, April," I say. "And you lied. You let me believe you, you let me look like a jackass. You let me worry about your wellbeing when you've never had surgery in your life."

She falters, mouth opening and closing for a moment as she tries to find the right words. "I… I… that's not true..."

"Yes, it is. Your mother told me. And it was by accident, so there's no need to crucify her for letting go of your precious secret," I say. "She told me nothing else. You've kept it locked up tightly and sworn everyone to secrecy, haven't you?" My voice is low but demanding. She hasn't looked away once. "I am your husband, April. When will the lies end? When are you going to let me stop feeling like an idiot for trusting you so much?"

Her eyes glisten before a tear falls from each eye. I have an innate urge to wipe them away, wipe away her sadness, but I keep my hands at my sides. Her lips part and strands of spit cling to each one, wavering with her breath. I've upset her - that much is clear. But I have no regrets. She's made me feel much in the same way. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice barely making it out because of how much it cracks.

I grit my teeth, cheeks bulging from the effort. I stare at her face for a long moment without being able to think of a word to say, not anything coherent anyway. Standing across from her in this tiny foyer, I hate her with every fiber of my being. But deeper inside, where my more intelligent emotions lie, I'm aware that I hate her only because I've allowed myself to love her. And because of that, I hate myself. This was never supposed to happen.

The kind of hurt I'm feeling now only occurs when the walls come down, and they should have never come down. That was my mistake.

"I'll see you at home," I say, finally opening the door to leave. "Have a nice night with your family."