Chapter 3
Agatha had to get away from the kitchen as soon as possible.
Her steps quickened as she felt tears brimming in her eyes.
She shut the door to her room with more force than she intended.
Slowly, her body leaned against the wall, slipping down until she was seated on the cold tiles.
Her knees clutched to her chest as she buried her face in her hands.
She pressed a hand against her mouth, trying to muffle the sobs crawling their way up her throat.
The interaction replayed in Agatha mind.
She couldn’t stop now—she had to finish what she started.
Her mind immediately wandered to that night at the hospital…
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Agatha’s heart stopped for a second.
The feeling she had been trying to avoid finally sank into the pit of her stomach.
Her hands were shaking, her breathing becoming labored, her eyes darting across the room.
The only thing she saw was the sympathetic look in the nurse’s eyes—her mouth was moving, but Agatha couldn’t hear anything.
Everything was muffled by the sound of her own heartbeat pounding against her ears.
She took a tentative step back, her knees slightly buckling, her thoughts racing. She glanced at her wife—Rio had the same expression printed on her face: shock.
It was too much. Too much noise. Too many emotions. Too much… EVERYTHING.
She needed to get away. She couldn’t bear another second of it.
Somehow, finding the strength, she reached for the nearest bathroom, closing the door just in time for a sob to rip from her throat.
It sounded violent, choked, warm tears spilling from her eyes.
She tried to stop them, her hands rubbing against her cheeks in frantic motions, trying to keep herself from sinking too deep.
She screamed in frustration.
Her throat felt raw.
The sound that came out was strangled by her sobs.
She fell against the wall, her body too spent to do anything other than cry.
Slowly, she slipped onto the floor, curling into herself, knees tucked tightly to her chest as she rocked back and forth.
“Nicky…”
she mumbled softly.
Her son.
Her beloved son.
Who wasn’t here anymore.
She slapped herself, trying to suppress her emotions, whispering the words her mother had always told her:
Get a grip, Agatha. Don’t be such a crybaby.
But it only made the tears come harder.
Her sobs turned raw, each sound scratching her throat, making it harder to breathe.
Maybe that was better.
Maybe if she focused on the pain in her throat, she wouldn’t have to feel the other pain.
The one threatening to consume her.
She shook her head violently.
No.
She refused to let herself feel it.
She couldn’t.
Her trembling hands slipped into her pocket, fingers barely working as she pulled out her phone.
Without even thinking, she called Wanda.
Agatha and Wanda worked together at the police precinct ever since they had moved to this quiet town.
Right now, she wasn’t thinking—she just needed to get away from everything.
She couldn’t bear to look at Rio.
Wanda’s voice cut through the older woman’s sobs.
“Agatha…?”
Her voice was tentative, shocked to hear the other woman crying.
She didn’t hesitate before asking,
“What’s happening? Did something happen to Rio?”
Agatha whispered, her voice breaking,
“Just pick me up from the hospital.”
Then she added, voice strained,
“Please.”
A beat of silence passed.
Then, softly, Wanda said,
“Of course. I’ll be there soon.”
When Wanda finally arrived, she took in the sight in front of her.
Agatha looked utterly wrecked.
Disheveled.
Broken.
Her hair was all over the place, her eyes red and puffy.
She was trembling.
Without a word, Wanda reached for a blanket from the backseat and draped it over the older woman’s shoulders.
She guided Agatha into the car without asking questions.
She knew Agatha well enough to know she wasn’t ready to talk.
So, she didn’t press her.
The car ride was silent.
The only sound was Agatha’s labored breathing.
When they reached Wanda’s house, they walked inside slowly. Agatha was still shaking.
They sat on the couch, the cold leather making Agatha shiver.
They just stared at each other, neither saying a word.
The silence in the house was unbearable.
Everything was too much.
The world around Agatha was spinning.
Her body felt heavier than it should.
Her eyes drifted to Wanda’s lips.
The green-eyed woman noticed.
Her brows knitted together in confusion.
She opened her mouth.
“Agatha, wh—”
But she was cut off.
Agatha leaned in, kissing her.
Desperate.
Passionate.
Wanda went rigid in shock.
But then—softly, hesitantly—she melted into it.
And then, as if reality had suddenly crashed down on her, Agatha pulled back.
Her breath caught.
Her face paled.
Her mouth parted slightly.
“I—I…”
Then she jumped off the couch and bolted.
Not even ten minutes later, she found a bar.
She needed a distraction.
She slumped onto a stool and ordered five shots.
By the third one, warmth spread through her body.
Her mind felt hazy.
And then—
It all crashed down.
Nicholas.
His passing.
Rio’s face.
Her mind stilled on Rio.
She had just cheated on her wife.
Not even an hour after their son died.
Shakily, she pulled out her phone.
Opened the camera roll.
Tears started falling freely as she watched a video of Rio tickling Nicky.
They were both laughing.
The camera shook slightly—probably because Agatha had been laughing, too, while filming the scene.
———————————
After that day, she slowly pulled away from her wife’s grasp.
She couldn’t do this.
Not to Rio.
Not to the love of her life.
Agatha was a terrible person.
How could she stay with Rio after this?
She had to make Rio hate her.
She had to become the bane of her existence.
It would make it easier.
Rio would be free.