Death by Trial and Error (A Legal Suspense Short) by R. Barri Flowers Page B

drinker by and large. But
that didn't stop him from indulging whenever it suited his fancy,
usually to calm his nerves.
    Or guilt.
    She took the glass he gave her, but didn't
drink from it.
    "I never planned for this to happen,"
Harrison uttered pathetically. "It just did—"
    Nothing ever just happens, Emma thought,
seething. It takes two selfish people to make it happen.
    She flashed hateful eyes at one of them. "How
long?" she heard herself say, as if this would somehow make a
difference in the way she felt.
    Had it been going on for years without her
ever suspecting?
    Or had he decided practically overnight that
having another lover was just what the doctor ordered to satisfy
him?
    Harrison put the glass to his lips
thoughtfully. "Is that really important?"
    "How long?" Her voice rose threateningly. She
needed to know how long he had played her for a fool.
    How long he had abused her love and devotion
to him.
    How long he had taken everything she had ever
wanted in life and destroyed it in an instant.
    "Six months," he said matter-of-factly.
    Half a year.
    One hundred and eighty days.
    One hundred and eighty nights.
    When he wasn't with her, he was with her .
    When they made love, which wasn't very often
in the past six months, had he really been making love to her ?
    And what about when they weren't making love?
Had he been sleeping with her when he claimed to be at his
office or at the cabin writing?
    Or when he was supposed to be on a book
tour?
    Or hunting?
    Had she been the first? Or was she just the
latest?
    Emma felt sick to her stomach. She bent over
in pain, as if she had been on the receiving end of a punch to the
midsection. Harrison, feigning concern, put his hands on her.
    "Are you all right?" His voice was coated
with sincerity. Or perhaps pity.
    She would accept neither. Whatever he was
offering came too late.
    She willed herself to put aside the nauseous
feeling, straightening up, and slapping his hands away as if they
were hot coals.
    "Don't touch me, you bastard !"
    He looked as if it was he who had been
crushed, betrayed, and humiliated. "I know how you must feel—"
    Her eyes became razor slits. "You can't
possibly know how I feel! How could you? I've given my life to you.
I've been faithful to you. I've allowed you to lead a life often
separate of our life. All I ever asked in return was that
you remain loyal to me, in and out of bed. But you took advantage
of my love and naivety and I hate you for it."
    Did she really hate him?
    Could she ever truly hate the only man she
had ever loved no matter what he did?
    But how could she ever love him again, in
spite of her feelings?
    Her mouth felt dry, as if she had been in the
desert for a month. She lifted her glass of wine and took a sip, if
only to wet her throat.
    Though she wanted only to drown herself in
sorrow, there were still other questions, other answers that she
needed to concern herself with. Because she'd had no experience
with a cheating husband, she had not been prepared to face all the
implications that came with the territory.
    Why had he told her of his affair? To absolve
his guilty conscience?
    To cruelly hurt her in the worst way
possible?
    Or was he was planning to leave her for this
other woman?
    The mere notion sent a shiver up and down
Emma's spine. Somehow in her shock she had not considered that it
was he who might want to dump her rather than the other way
around.
    Was he even worth fighting for? Or should she
be grateful that he had revealed his secret life, thereby making
him worthless to her?
    Maybe he was telling her this because the
affair was now over and he wanted her forgiveness.
    Could their lives ever possibly be the same
again?
    Or had his admission made trust impossible
from this day forward, no matter what else happened?
    "Who is she?" Emma asked him pointblank, as
if she needed to know in order to put a face and body to this
nightmare where there seemed no escape.
    Was it Doris Applegate, his editor that he
had been