Loving You For A Month

Warning!!! Please, this book contains sensitive adult themes!!

Coral.

Bay Water Town, Minnesota…

Saturday. April 30th, 2022…

Evening…

I unlock the door, and my sons’ excited screams tumble inside ahead of me. Shrill, joyous, loud enough to wake the dead.

“Boys, careful not to break the cake we bought for Daddy,” I warn Joseph, eight, and Benjamin, six. They ignore me, of course they do, and barrel toward the kitchen, setting the cake on the counter like it’s treasure.

I hurry back outside to grab the rest of the bags from the car. Today is Michael’s birthday, and every year since our wedding, we’ve marked it with a trip to the Mall of America. A tradition. But not this year. Not when he suddenly had a “work trip” he couldn’t miss.

"Michael, what am I supposed to tell the boys?" I’d asked him just days ago, my voice breaking with disbelief.

He hadn’t even looked up from his laptop. His face stone, fingers flying across the keys, like I didn’t exist.

“Michael?” I’d pressed.

His eyes had flicked up to me, cold, detached. That one glance had chilled me, even before he spoke.

“If I stop working, will you pay the bills, Coral? You? A stay at home mom?”

The words had cut me to ribbons. No apology. No explanation. Just silence after the sting.

I had given him everything; left my career as a fashion assistant for a mega lifestyle magazine, reshaped myself into the wife he wanted, the mother our children needed. I had sacrificed my manageable figure, my freedom, my dreams. And in return, I’d been made to feel invisible. A door mat.

Still, I bought him the cake. Still, I thought about loving him tonight, on his birthday.

I load the bags into my arms and decide to enter through the garage, shorter route. That’s when I see it. His car. Parked right there.

My breath snags. What? He said he was out of town. Did he take a cab?

Anger sparks in me, hot and sharp, but I push it down. There must be a reason. A logical explanation.

Inside, the boys are too lost in their toys to notice the storm rising in me. I unpack, put things away, each motion mechanical. But my mind keeps circling Michael’s car in the garage. Circling the emptiness between us.

It’s like I don’t exist to him anymore.

My parents’ voices echo, the last conversation still fresh,

“Michael was always a playboy in respectable clothes,” Dad had growled.

“Joshua, stop. That’s her husband,” Mum had tried to stop him. But dad hadn't stopped. He pressed.

“He’s hurting her, Petunia. He made her give up everything.”

I’d defended Michael then. I can’t even remember the words. Maybe because even I didn’t believe them.

I stash towels in the closet when I hear it, a ringtone. His ringtone. My heart stumbles. It cuts off, then starts again, insistent. The sound is coming from upstairs.

From our bedroom.

I freeze. My breath quickens. Was he here all along? Did he lie to us just to sneak away and sleep? On his birthday? On this special day?

I pad barefoot down the hall, dread pooling heavy in my chest. The bedroom door is shut. My hand shakes as I push. That’s when I feel it. Wetness under my toes. I glance down.

Blood.

A pool.

My body goes cold. I shove the door open and the world stops.

Michael is sprawled on the bed. Naked. Beside him, draped across his body, lies my former boss. Both of them naked. Both of them slashed open at the throat. Blood everywhere. Their eyes wide and empty, staring into nothing.

And on the nightstand, a piece of white cardboard, soaked at the edges, with words scrawled in crimson:

DEBT PAID IN FULL.

The scream in my throat never makes it out. My vision swims. My heart caves in.

And just like that, my world shatters.

***

Coral.

Present day.

Bloomington, Minnesota.

Friday, August 29th. Three years later…

Morning.

I stare at the work submitted by Lia, one of the interns. My eyes burrow into the computer screen, already spotting the uncrossed T’s and undotted I’s. This piece of garbage won’t do for the next Ideal Woman’s monthly periodical. I don’t know why I bothered giving her or any of the interns a chance. I should have stuck with the seasoned editors on my team.

But no. I had to set an example. The first to follow Edgar’s bright ideas.

“Allow new voices. Work with interns. These Gen Z kids know what’s moving the internet. Get ideas from them.” He urged us weeks ago.

The other editors refused to budge. But as the fashion editor for the Ideal Woman unit, I had to lead. I had to embody the brand. So I brought interns on board. And now here I am, staring at this disaster.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. The headache that’s plagued me for weeks flares again, exhaustion pressing down. There aren’t enough hours in a day anymore. Between school runs, cooking, cleaning, chasing after the boys, bills piling up, and deadlines demanding polished content, my body is giving out. Tingling in places I never knew could tingle. Not the good kind. Pins and needles kind.

“You need to slow down, Coral,” my doctor warned, days back. “You’re burning out. Take some days off. Ritzy Leigh won’t collapse without you.”

I heard her. I really did. But who’s paying the bills if I stop?

Michael’s words from years ago cut through my thoughts. “If I stop working, will you pay the bills, Coral? You? A stay at home mum?”

The words stung then. They still sting now. And they drag me back to that day. The day I found Michael, my husband and Eni Palmer, my former boss, dead. Naked in bed together.

The autopsy said Michael died after intercourse. ‘Heart still beating when slashed…’ The words burned into me, immovable.

I buzz the intercom. “Send Lia in.” My voice is low, clipped.

For a flicker, my thoughts shift to my boys, what they endured. Finding me in that room with those corpses, three years ago. The therapy sessions that left them worse. The doctor finally telling us to focus on family instead of trauma. So I did. Friday trips to my parents’ in Bay Water became ritual. Thirty five minutes each way, no hassle. Stability, at least on the surface. But inside, I still see the void Michael's death caused.

‘A Debt Paid in Full,’ the blood soaked cardboard on the night stand declared, when we found the corpses. I don't know what the debt was. Michael never told me of any debt. And I never knew he was f*ck*ng my former boss.

A knock pulls me back. “Come in,” I say, clearing my throat of the ache those memories just stirred.

Lia enters. Young. Beautiful. Smart. But careless. No effort. She sits, and I fix her with a measured look.

“Do you know why I called you here?”

Her brow arches at me. A raised brow? A demerit. Word is she’s got an attitude with supervisors, but until now she hadn’t tested me. I jot a mental note.

“I called you about your write up. To be kind, it’s not up to my standards.”

Again, that brow.

“When you say your standards, you don’t own the place.” Her tone is light, but the edge slices. Rebellion. Challenge.

I inhale and lean back, steady. “No, I don’t own the place. But we all work to a standard, and you haven’t met mine. Either use the template I gave you, or step away from the team.”

My brow lifts in return. A duel.

Her frown deepens. She shoots up from the chair and turns for the door.

“I didn’t dismiss you yet.” My voice halts her. She freezes, shoulders stiff, back still turned. “If you want to succeed here, drop the attitude. Otherwise, you won’t get far.”

Her body stays rigid. My words landed. Good.

“You may leave now.”

She hesitates. Then she turns. Her eyes are hard, defiant.

“You think you’ve shown authority, Ms. Winters. But I’ll make sure you regret your words.”

She storms out, slamming the door.

The sound echoes.

My chest tightens. Did that girl just threaten me?

Coral.

Noon.

I’m halfway through lunch with my girls when my phone buzzes across the table. I frown at the caller ID. Edgar.

“Hi, Edgar. Yeah, I was just eating. I’ll be right there.” My voice is clipped as I end the call, still frowning.

“Don’t tell me Edgar just dragged you into work on your lunch break?” Tega says, biting into her sub. “That’s against policy.”

“I don’t know. He sounded urgent.” I fork another bite of chicken salad, chew, then dab my mouth with a napkin.

The moment I stand, a dizzy spell slams into me. The cafeteria noise dims, like I’m underwater. I grip the table until it steadies.

“You work too hard, Coral,” Tega mutters. “Rest. If you don’t answer Edgar’s summons, someone else will. You haven’t taken a break since Michael’s death. Live a little.”

Her quiet admonition stings. I give her a soft smile, despite my dizziness. “I rest, T. But I need to prove myself now. T