Betrayed Read Online Free Page B

I did that I lost more than I bargained for.

11- Tatum
    Molly and I spent the rest of the afternoon planning out the three days of shooting that were rapidly approaching. She had never shot such a big name wedding, and I’ve never shot a wedding period. I was getting crash courses in lighting, camera use, and any other tiny tidbit that she could think of as we went through the afternoon. By the end of the night my brain was swelling with information, as well as an ever present swelling a little lower. Just looking at her move in her tiny shorts and crazy hair made me want her. She didn’t even know how beautiful she was, always pulling at her shirt to adjust it, or redoing her messy hair to make it look like she meant for it to be insane. I loved every fucking bit of it, too. This was all so new to me, but if love really did grow like so many people say, I look forward to the future when I love her more than now, if that’s even humanly possible.
    She had some things she needed to finish with schedules, so I headed back to the house to start on dinner. I didn’t really know how to cook, but I could make a mean pot of spaghetti and meatballs. Mom’s specialty and one thing she made her kids learn before they left the house to move on into the big mean world.
    On the porch was another box, much like the ones we have been unpacking, but it was unmarked. Alert on high now due to my father’s training to be suspicious of everything out of the norm, I looked all around before picking up the box and carefully took it inside. It wasn’t heavy, but I knew it didn’t matter. Sometimes the most dangerous things barely weighed anything.
    I turned on the side table light, just enough to light up the room but not enough to alert anyone on the outside that I was home.  I set the box on the coffee table and sit on the couch preparing myself to open it. An awful feeling is settling into the pit of my stomach and when I open the box I almost lose it.
    One lone, dirty, baby blanket lie in the bottom of the box and takes my breath completely away from me.
    It was his. It was in his carrier when she ripped him out of my world. Tears stream down my face and land on my arm resting on the table before I know I’m even crying. The blanket so soft, I still remember him wrapped up in it while he laid unresponsive in the hospital. The hole in my heart that had started to heal was ripped open at the awful memories the blanket brought back. It felt like I couldn’t breathe, like there was something sitting on my chest, a burning that wouldn’t cool down.
    Sadness was suddenly replaced with anger, burning rage. Who the hell would do this? I was adamant that every trace of a child be wiped clean. Nothing was to be left to remind me of what I lost. Hell I left a great life because I didn’t even want the knowing stares and sympathy! Some parents that lose their child keep everything just as it was the last time their child touched it. Some never made their beds, dusted their rooms, or changed décor. I was the total opposite. The therapists said everyone grieves differently, and I was just not following the path most parents did, but there was nothing wrong with it.
    Now some asshole decides to pull this? Who the fuck kept my sons blanket? And why the hell did they just now decide to leave it on Molly’s front porch? What does she have to do with any of this?
    Going into survival mode, I put the blanket back in the box and stash it in my office behind other boxes that I needed to unpack. Molly doesn’t need to know about this. It has nothing to do with her, and she already has enough on her plate to worry about. I make sure the doors are all locked and blinds closed, then I go about my night preparing dinner for the woman I love. All the while my brain is working it’s hardest to figure out what the fuck that was all about.
    Setting the table I notice a notecard on the floor next to the coffee table. Facing up are the words “revenge” in