Remember Me? (Book 1) COMPLETED

Justice

KATHERINE

Matthew offered to stay with me at the station, but I told him I would be fine. Even as he pulled away, I felt a twinge of regret that I didn't take him up on his offer, but I knew it would be best to keep him out of this.

Jolly holiday music played softly over the speakers inside the station, where precious few officers and clerks manned their stations on today, Christmas Eve. I got the attention of a clerk and asked if I could speak with a detainee. She was hesitant to accept my request, until I gave the name Victoria Pitchner. Pity contorted her features and she let me through.

"Fifteen minutes," was all she said.

That should be enough. For now, at least.

I found her in the back of a spacious, grimy cell. Her red hair was tied back in a greasy ponytail, and she seemed to wear both a pajama bottom and a business blouse, as if she had dressed in a hurry. She started when she heard my footsteps, nearly bolting upright when she saw me.

Her features were unchanged—the bright red hue of her hair, her sea-glass eyes that both enchanted yet cut deeply, the up-turned slope of her nose. And yet, there was a humility beneath all of it, coming out on the tear stains that marred her cheeks and the grimace she made when she tried to straighten, one arm on her belly, the other on the metal bench.

"I can't believe you're here," she said breathlessly. She rubbed her eyes, blinking rapidly.

I raised my arms, palms forward, then let them drop again as if to shrug. "Here we are."

She hobbled over to the front of the cell, where she settled on the only place she could—a tarnished toilet. Her shirt rode up over her big stomach as she sat, revealing deep purple stretch marks.

"How far along are you?" The question escaped before I could process it.

She seemed surprised, but answered anyway. "Five months, almost six."

"Pretty big for five months," I commented.

She laughed, though it didn't seem she found anything funny. "The doctors say twins. Maybe triplets."

Silence stretched between us, accented only by the steady drip of water from the leaky faucet down the hall. "How did we get here?" I asked, studying her.

She knew what I meant by my question, because she didn't start with how she got to jail. Instead, she started recounting a story from a time long-since forgotten, five years ago.

"It started a few months before your wedding day," she started. "I remember it because of the stupid cat that scratched me. I was coming out from helping you with the floral arrangements since you couldn't go. My car was broken down, Nick picked me up, and we decided to go for coffee."

Although my hackles rose in jealousy at the thought, there was nothing suspicious about this particular behavior. We were all friends before Nick and I got together. Before the betrayal, this was normal.

"While we were there, he mentioned how he kept getting emails from an ex-boyfriend of yours. Someone who kept insisting that you were unfaithful. He seemed really upset. I told him to talk to you about it."

As she spoke, a dim memory came flooding back. "He did," I said, confirming her story. "He asked me, showed me the emails, and I said I didn't know him."

Victoria nodded, as if understanding. "The emails continued. He ignored them, and we didn't talk about it again, until he received one with a picture."

I frowned. "A picture?"

"Of you with another man."

My blood went cold. What in the world? "Someone must have forged that picture," I said, "I didn't do anything to compromise my relationship with Nick—"

And then it hit me. The guy at the university library that day. Cute and sweet, but otherwise too close for comfort. He had stolen my books, forcing me close, then pulled me in for a kiss. He received a slap and an escort from campus security.

Could someone have arranged that?

As soon as the question crossed my mind, I knew the answer. Of course.

This would have been a few days before the wedding, when I was finishing up some final assignments to get a break for the honeymoon to Europe.

I told Victoria my revelation. She didn't appear shocked, only more guilt-stricken than before. "That makes sense, but even so, Nick was so angry, he didn't want to talk to you. I told him to reach out, but he said he needed to leave. I convinced him to at least go to the hotel for the wedding, where he could cool off enough to talk to you instead of running away." She grimaced, unable to keep going.

That's where I could imagine the rest. My grandfather's texts to verify the honeymoon suite at the hotel, telling me to go in person. The reek of alcohol on Nick's breath, which made it so he needed the wall to stand straight.

"I don't have an excuse," she said quietly. "I tried to help you both, but in seeing all the hurt he was going through, I was in love with him before I knew I had gotten too close."

The words cut deep, like a final blow to a dying enemy. As she spoke, tears spilled over my eyes. I tried to find it in me to hate her again, like I did the first day when I knew the truth, but all I felt was pity. At least I could move on from this hurt, but Victoria was stuck, her whole life entrenched in a moment where she gave away all common reason.

"Do you love him?" I asked, voice so low she had to lean in to catch it.

She was silent.

"I won't be mad at you, Victoria."

At last, she nodded. "I did then and I do now. It was so complicated at the start, but I tried my best to be the wife he wanted." She took a shuddering breath. "But God had it out for me. Every baby we conceived, I lost. When Nick resigned from CEO last year, I knew I couldn't hide the truth from him anymore."

"Did you tell him?"

She shook her head. "I confided in Octavia, and she offered me a solution. Fly to Pennsylvania for a fertility clinic. She would cover the cost. If only I would sign papers and arrange the business deals with Rick." Her eyes were glued to the floor. "I tried so hard to be cold and strong like Octavia."

I was guessing it was the only way she wouldn't fall apart.

I reached forward, grasping her hands. Her gaze shot to me, fear and concern flashing across her features. "Katherine—"

"God doesn't hate you, Victoria," I said. "And I don't either."

She jolted as if shocked by a current. I squeezed her hand. "You can be free, Victoria, from your guilt and your shame. It won't be easy, and I'm not saying you'll get out of all your problems—" I gestured to the jail around us "—but I know Jesus can help you. Do you want that?"

"Yes," she breathed. "I do."