The Next Wife by Kaira Rouda (speld decodable readers txt) 📕

mom, not after everything he did to her when he married Tish. Did he really expect Mom to just take him back? Sorry, Kate, here, let’s make a trust for Ashlyn as my penance, and I’ll just move back in with you.

Like the last five years didn’t damage us all to the core. Like the last five years didn’t happen? As if he hadn’t squashed my mom’s big project just when she was ready to launch it this summer. No, Dad, that’s not how the world works. You don’t always get your way.

And what about me? The damage you did to our relationship was lasting, deep. Once you and Tish hooked up, you barely had time for anyone else. I know you thought we still had a connection, but it was tenuous, transactional. And often, canceled by you. Even the last plans we had, dinner with you, me, and Seth, even that was abruptly called off for Tish. She played you, that’s what she did. She got all the power in the relationship and left you looking like a fool to everyone else: to the employees, to your friends, to Mom, and most especially, to me.

Did you ever think about what it was like to have a stepmother who was your own age? Did you think about how humiliating it was for Mom to have to work with both of you every day? Did you wonder how we felt when you dropped a bomb on our lives?

No, you didn’t. It didn’t matter to you. Once you found your “soul mate,” nobody else mattered. You promised nothing would be different, but you lied. I trusted you, and you let me down again and again. I often wondered if you thought Tish was worth it? I guess you had decided she wasn’t. I guess lust doesn’t last, but the damage you did to our family certainly does. You don’t even know how deep the hurt is, the pain, the anger is. And now, you never will.

Headlights illuminate the front lawn as my mom’s car pulls up and parks at the curb in front of Tish’s house.

It’s time.

CHAPTER 62

TISH

I’m a little nervous anticipating my next visitor.

Thank goodness Ashlyn is out of my life forever. I will never speak to her again. She was the first one contesting the will, and now, it’s not worth the paper it was written on. And all along she owned my house? Little bitch.

Focus, Tish. I’m as prepared as I can be for my little meeting with Kate. I’ll get as much money as I can, and then I’ll get out of here.

The hunky realtor is set to come by for another romp in an hour, but I’m not sure I’m in the mood. I mean, if I can’t use him to make some cash, what good is he? I should text him and cancel. I am upstairs finishing packing my large trunks. I wish I could fit all of my beautiful things in these two trunks, but I know Sonja will reunite us again soon.

I imagine the swanky hotel room I’ll check into tonight in New York, the crisp high-thread-count sheets, the twenty-four-hour room service, the spa. A hotel John and I have never been to before, a place his ghost can’t haunt me. This will all just be a bad dream soon.

I hope Kate has come with a generous offer. I’m young. I should travel, not be chained to a boring corporate job. With me gone, there is no story of a fight between two Mrs. Nelsons. Kate will be pleased. This will be a win-win for both of us. As for Uncle George, he better call and apologize. I can’t believe Kate was able to unravel his scheme so quickly. Too bad for him, but I’m not paying the rest of his retainer, no way. And if Kate presses charges, I’ll tell them it was all George’s idea. I’m just a helpless widow.

George will never know how much Kate pays me tonight. This is my deal, all for me.

I look in the mirror and decide full evening makeup is in order. As I smooth on foundation, I remind myself to transfer the cash from our joint account to the new one I’ve set up—the one where Kate will make a generous deposit soon. I check out my reflection in the mirror, and my confidence cracks. Who am I kidding? I’m not a step ahead of Kate, I’m not sure I ever was. But I’m about to be free. I’m rich and young and I can go anywhere, do anything, be anyone.

I smile at the thought as I apply mascara and note I need concealer under my eyes again. Because I was haunted as usual last night by John. I know, it’s crazy, but he’s in my dreams. And not in the romantic sense. Last night, John kept offering me a drink, begging me to take it. Every time I said no, or pushed the glass away, his arm dissolved into the air, only to reappear with the same margarita glass in his hand.

“Come on, Tish. Let’s have a little toast,” John repeated over and over.

I take a deep breath and add blush to my cheeks. This is almost over. All of it. George kept telling me all would work out as long as I stayed cool, whatever that means. He didn’t like the fact I flipped John’s desk. That “wasn’t cool,” as he put it. He doesn’t understand the pressure I’m under, or how horrible it is with everyone spying on me at the office.

The last time I talked to him, he asked for more money. That’s all this ever was to him.

“I’ve paid you all you’re going to get. The whole thing is falling apart. Quit milking this.” Greedy son of a gun is on my last nerve. But he got me this far. Once Kate and I make a deal, I won’t need him anymore. She wants me gone. And