Page 87 of Thin Lives

Empty.

“You have a hundred pairs of eyes on you at the moment,” Affonso said at Emma’s side. “The very least you could do for those people is smile, Emma.”

She knew what would have been the right thing to do where Affonso was concerned, especially on a day like today that was incredibly important to him. She should have put her mask on for him, and smiled pretty for the crowd, just the way he would like, in the way that would please him.

Emma couldn’t even bother to muster that up for the bastard.

“Why?” she asked, keeping her tone down so that only Affonso could hear. “Wasn’t it you who told me this morning that today wasn’t about me, Affonso? It’s about Cross and you. Isn’t that right? Why should I smile for people who didn’t come to see me?”

Affonso’s jaw ticked a second before his fingers dug deep into Emma’s arm. They had been standing side by side on the altar as the new priest of their church blessed her son, beginning his rites of Christening. No one probably even noticed the husband holding his wife’s arm.

Emma did all she could not to wince, or make a sound. Affonso would like it too much, for one thing. But for another, she knew that if she did make a show, she would probably regret it later.

Lately, it seemed her husband had no qualms with reminding Emma of her place in the family, and in his life. He took no issue with taking her son from her arms regularly, just to make a point that he could. He often called her a whore when others’ backs were turned.

His patience had lessened more and more.

Cross had stayed in the hospital for a total of two weeks until his jaundice left, and his oxygen levels remained steady. Unfortunately, just a few short days after his birth, Emma had been discharged to go home.

She found that home was not as safe or comforting as it should have been.

It seemed like now that her son was out of her womb, Affonso had no issue with removing her altogether, if he needed. Or at least, that’s what he regularly threatened her with.

It killed her—suffocating her slowly.

Emma was beyond acting like the good little house wife for Affonso. She no longer cared about his status, or her place as his wife. She was done with his demands, his abusive nature, and his manipulations.

But she was also alone.

She had no one.

Pushing Affonso in just the right way might lead to a situation that could leave her in a grave, and her son without a mother.

“You are certainly touchy today, aren’t you?” Affonso asked.

Emma didn’t respond.

She didn’t really need to.

“Behave, Emma.”

That warning was enough to make her spine straighten a little more. There wasn’t even an “or else” tacked onto the end of it, but she didn’t need there to be.

“Look, even our son is smiling,” Affonso added after a moment.

Emma’s gaze traveled over to where the priest was holding Cross in his white Christening gown and his little cap keeping his wild, black hair covered. Sure enough, the two-week-old newborn had a slight grin curving his pink lips as he jerkily waved an arm at the priest.

But she knew what it was.

“He’s too little for grins; he’s not even three weeks old yet—it’s gas, Affonso.”

Affonso grunted. “You have to make everything so goddamn bleak.”

No, he did that.

She was simply a product of his vileness.

Their whole marriage was.