From This Day Forward Read online

  FROM THIS DAY FORWARD

  By Shannon Myers

  Copyright © 2016 by Shannon Myers

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to- being stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, groups, businesses, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by: The Final Wrap

  Photographer: Amanda Tolley

  Model: Ashley Williams

  First Printing: 2016

  ISBN 978-0-9975348-1-8

  Dedication

  To my Husby. You have always pushed me to follow my dreams and without you, I never would’ve had the courage to do this. I’m so blessed to share this life with you. I love you more!

  Table of Contents

  FROM THIS DAY FORWARD

  PROLOGUE

  PART ONE:

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  PART TWO:

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  PART THREE:

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  I don’t remember a day in my life when I wasn’t wishing that I could go back to some point in the past and change the way things had happened. I was convinced that if I could just change a few of the details, then everything would be perfect. It was a lot like those “Create Your Own Adventure” stories that you would read as a kid. You picked one of several choices and it would direct you to a certain page based on what you chose. I could never choose just one scenario.

  Don’t get me wrong, I liked my life…I just felt as though something was always missing. I’m a bit of what you might call a perfectionist, and according to my therapist, a bit of a control freak (she uses a much more “medical sounding” term) - but, I’m getting ahead of myself. Perhaps, I should start at the beginning.

  PART ONE:

  BETRAYAL

  CHAPTER ONE

  “This is completely normal. It happens to a lot of women,” I take deep breaths as I hold the cell phone in my hands. Oh—who am I kidding? This is the furthest thing from normal.

  “Please tell me she’s asleep- I need you.”

  My husband, Landon, had left his cell phone unlocked on the couch next to me. I’m not the type to pry, but his phone was buzzing incessantly with text alerts. I was only trying to silence it so I could go back to my Glee marathon on Netflix.

  My mouth suddenly dry (and hands shaking), I log into his phone and begin scrolling through the countless messages and pictures. I feel bile rising in the back of my throat at the explicitness in front of me.

  I hear the shower shut off and guiltily shove the phone down in between the couch cushions. I try to force myself to focus on the television screen, but my mind is wrapped up in what I just witnessed on my husband’s cell phone. Landon walks in wearing nothing but sweatpants, slung low on his hips. He runs his hand through his damp hair and grins at me just as his phone signals another incoming text.

  He looks around, almost frantically, for it. I pull it from between the couch cushions and stand up, using the side of the couch to steady myself- it’s as if the entire room has tilted out from under me.

  “Elizabeth—” He reaches his hand out, trying to snatch the phone out of my hand.

  “It’s too late, Landon.” My voice sounds resigned.

  He makes a move as if to embrace me.

  “Don’t you dare touch me!” I try to compose myself before continuing, “You’re sleeping with her.” I’d meant it as a question, but it comes out as a statement.

  He makes a pained expression and I bring my hands up over my face at his confirmation, “Oh my God. You’re sleeping with her! You are—it’s all over your face!”

  Landon holds his hands up, “Elizabeth, please calm down.”

  He begins going through all the stages: denial—“The texts were meant for someone else,” anger—“Why were you going through my phone?” and finally acceptance— “I think I’m in love with her.”

  It’s a common theme in marriages these days, right? I’m not some exception, I know that. However, because I never do anything small, the woman in question is none other than Katie-Landon’s best friend’s wife.

  I mentally check out as he attempts to make the situation better by telling me that it’s been going on for years. Four years to be exact. As in—the bastard met, dated, and married me all while screwing her. She was a bridesmaid in my wedding for crying out loud! Katie was so close to Landon and my circle of friends was quite small—some might say almost non-existent—the point is, I thought having her in my wedding would make us closer.

  I’d spent my entire relationship with Landon trying to make Katie like me and wracking my brain after every get-together for what I had done wrong. It seemed my every attempt to win her over was met with coldness or some sarcastic remark. When Landon wasn’t close by she’d even go so far as to comment on what I was eating- “It must be nice to just not care anymore.” This was said at a birthday party where I’d chosen to have a second slice of pizza. How sick is that?

  He tried to make us friends. She’s everything I’m not- tall (I’m 5’4”), brunette (I’m blonde), stick-thin (I like to eat! So sue me, because size 8 is not fat.) You know, she even had a few modeling gigs in college because of course she did. Yes, this is definitely not a normal situation.

  A strange gasping, choking sound startles me back to reality only for me to realize I’m the one making it. I push past him (and his excuses) and run out onto the front porch. The sobs overtake me before I even make it two steps.

  “Elizabeth, wait!”

  I can hear him coming after me and I take off running down the block barefoot. I don’t want to hear anymore. I can’t bear it.

  A few minutes later I stop and rest against a tree, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. I don’t know how much time passes before the chill in the air reaches me.

  By the time I make it back to the house he’s gone, just like that. There’s a note scribbled on a napkin lying on the island, “I’m sorry.” As if that alone could atone for our sham of a relationship. I rip it up, scattering the pieces across the kitchen.

  It’s at this point that I sort of fall apart, turn on my favorite radio station, and begin scrubbing the house from top to bottom— as if doing so will somehow fix my marriage in the process. As Christina Perri sings to her ex-lover and his jar of hearts, I sit on the kitchen floor with my scrubber in hand
, letting more tears fall. I feel so stupid. How could I have not seen the signs right in front of me? When I complained that his friends didn’t like me, Landon would just say that I wasn’t trying hard enough and that I came across as standoffish.

  It isn’t like there isn’t some truth in that. I get into big crowds and I sometimes feel like a fish out of water. I get hot and feel as though I can’t breathe—and then come the tears. It’s like my body goes into fight or flight at the thought of being in close proximity to large groups of people. Really, I’m much more comfortable as a wallflower with a drink in my hand, observing those around me.

  While not exactly understanding of my feelings, Landon never gave me any reason to distrust him. He wasn’t coming home late at night, smelling of another woman’s perfume with lipstick on his collar—does it ever happen like that? He was home at five forty-five every evening. On the weekends, he would go golfing with Mike (Yes, as in Katie’s unwitting husband) and then we would usually head out to meet friends for dinner or catch a movie. I’m not saying it was the stuff of romance novels, but had someone told me he was having an affair a week ago, I would’ve sworn they were mistaken. I just don’t know when he would’ve had the time and in a small west Texas town, it’s hard to keep a secret.

  I was born in Fort Worth and lived there until I was eight. My dad was a partner for an insurance firm and his company offered him a position as Managing Partner of their Lubbock branch.

  We left behind friends and family to live in a city where we knew no one. I started a new school and suffered my first anxiety attack. The majority of the kids I went to school with had been together since kindergarten and they didn’t take kindly to outsiders from the big city. Where I had been outgoing, I became painfully shy and somewhat of a loner. My parents begrudgingly put me in therapy and I really think they thought I would be instantly cured.

  Landon grew up in the area, but we didn’t actually meet until we ended up working a local health fair in 2009. He was recruiting nurses to travel to exotic locations such as Boise, Idaho and Wilmington, Delaware where they would work short-term contracts until someone permanent could be found. I, on the other hand, was handing out toothbrushes and trying to find a dental assistant for the pediatric dental office I worked for- the second one was proving to be much more difficult than it sounded. Working with kids is a lot of fun, but it’s definitely not for everyone. We wanted our patients to enjoy coming to our office and based on the people I’d met so far, the poor kids would be having nightmares for years.

  I couldn’t go back to my office without any leads on a candidate though. The office manager, Lauren, didn’t accept failure. I’d worked side by side with her for six years at that point and I was still not entirely convinced she wouldn’t fire me given the chance. She’d jokingly refer to me as her other half, but then she’d turn around in the next moment and make sure to point out every mistake I’d made. No, I had to find someone she could interview or else I’d hear about it for the next few weeks—so much pressure.

  As fate would have it, mine and Landon’s booths just happened to be right next to each other. When he walked in to set up, every eye was on him. At 6’4, he commanded the room. Even with a suit on, his body looked to be carved from stone. His tousled light brown hair and bright green eyes probably had every woman within a five mile radius swooning. I’d never been a fan of beards, but the man pulled it off so well. Even though he could’ve had any woman there, he chose me. He was constantly engaging me in conversation throughout the day, so much so, that I found myself meandering over to his booth just to be near him. He was so charismatic.

  I did end up finding the perfect person for the job opening we had—even with the beautiful distraction in the booth next to me. Dara has been with our office ever since. The patients adore her fun, child-like nature and the parents like how detailed she is when discussing treatment plans and post-operative instructions. Hiring her not only got Lauren off my back, but earned me a lot of respect in the process.

  When the day ended and we were tearing everything down, Landon offered to take our chairs back and as I went to hand him one, his fingertips brushed my arm, giving me instant chills. I blushed and looked up at him. He was grinning from ear to ear, and I noticed that he had a dimple in his left cheek as he said, “You felt that too. Good.” He got my number and he didn’t even wait twenty-four hours before he called.

  The first few conversations we were on the phone until dawn. I remember needing to plug my cell phone in and sit against the wall while the battery charged. I cannot even recall the specifics of what we talked about, but I found myself falling fast for him. We married a year later and up until a few hours ago, I was content with my life.

  I snap out of my reverie to find my floors gleaming and the clock on the stove informing me that it’s now Monday morning and I’ve spent the hours I should’ve been sleeping lost to my memories.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I decide to call in sick as I am going to be of absolutely no use to anyone, waiting until seven fifteen when I know Lauren will be there. She’s immediately on alert, “What’s wrong? You never call in sick. What’s going on?”

  I bite my lip and try to get my voice under control, “Nothing’s going on Lauren—I just have that stomach stuff that’s been going around. Trust me; you want me to stay home.”

  “Okay,” she says unconvincingly, “You just don’t sound like yourself. Get some rest and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I hang up the phone and wander aimlessly around the house, picking up stray drinking glasses, straightening pillows, arranging magazines—it’s like I’m on autopilot.

  I eventually make my way into the master bedroom where I stand for at least ten minutes, in silence, just staring at our king-sized bed. I can hear the whir of the ceiling fan blades, birds chirping outside—even a dog barking down the alley. There are all these reminders that life is still going on outside of this room, but in here it feels like a tomb. He’s left me and I can’t even muster the strength to cry at the moment—I wonder if that’s a bad sign.

  I come to find myself, staring into the bathroom mirror hanging over the vanity. I expect to look different—like someone who’s just lost everything—but, minus the red-rimmed bloodshot eyes, it’s still me staring back.

  I check my phone to make sure I haven’t missed any calls or texts before walking in to Landon’s closet. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. It smells like him in here—like cedar wood shave soap and leather.

  As I reach up to take one of his dress shirts off the hanger, I notice his handguns resting on the top shelf of the closet. He’s got quite the collection. The darkest parts of my brain emerge. It would be so easy to take one and put myself out of this misery—this hell that I am now walking around in. I shake my head as if to clear these thoughts. No. What if my parents found me? I was all they had and I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone finding me like that.

  That alone is enough to jar me and I turn off the closet light, shutting the door behind me. I take his shirt and pull it on over my tank top, taking care to button every button, before burying myself under a mound of blankets in bed. I use his pillow just because I need to be enveloped in the smell of him. I close my eyes and let the darkness take over.

  When I open them again, it’s late afternoon. It takes me a minute to get my bearings and then a wave of grief crashes over me as a high speed film replays the last twenty-four hours in my head. I grab my phone off of the nightstand and check—nothing. I force myself out of bed and make my way over to the wine cabinet. Three forty-five in the afternoon?—Yeah, that’s a perfectly acceptable time of day to have a drink. I hate wine (Landon’s the wine drinker), but I hate feeling like this and it’s all we have in the house. I just need to numb myself for a bit. I find a bottle of Shiraz and don’t even bother with a glass. I tip the bottle back and shudder with the first taste. How can people drink this stuff?

  Half a bottle later and I’m sitting on the hardwood floo
r in the living room, texting my best friend (and hairdresser), Jess. She’s really the only confidante I have at the moment—I don’t trust any of our “couple friends” as they were friends with Landon first. That and I’ve never gotten the impression that they thought I was a good match for their Landon.

  “Jess— I need to talk. Something bad has happened.”

  Her response is immediate, “Lizzie, what’s going on?” She refuses to call me Elizabeth (like everyone else does)—because and I quote, “It’s an old woman’s name.”

  “Landon’s gone.”

  “Oh my God—where are you? Are you okay? Of course you’re not okay.”

  “No, I’m not okay. I’m at home—drinking.”

  “If you’re drinking this early, it must be bad. Hold tight and I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

  “Bring me some champagne. We’ve only got wine here.”

  “Will do, just give me a bit to finish up with my last client and I’m all yours.” I’m just about to pick myself and my almost empty wine bottle up off the floor when my phone buzzes with an incoming text. It’s Jess again.

  “Lizzie, I love you. Just try to relax and I’ll be there soon.”

  I’ve known Jess since I was twenty-one and working my way through college (only child or not, my parents wanted me to make my own way). We worked at a grocery store close to campus and became fast friends back-stocking unwanted items one evening. We were inseparable after that—she’d drag me along to the local bars where I’d try to make myself invisible in a darkened booth while she drank and danced until the wee hours of the morning. We had standing Friday night dinner dates—basically anywhere she went, I followed.

  While Jess may not be a large person physically, she makes up for it with a big personality and when I say Jess gets what Jess wants- I am not exaggerating in the slightest. With her bright blue eyes and dark brown hair, she stands out and men are putty in her hands. She wears her hair in whatever style is currently popular (at the moment she’s rocking an asymmetrical bob and she may be the only person I know who can pull it off).