Anyone But Her

ANYWHERE BUT HERE (Sequel Sneak Peek)

Wren sat naked on the edge of the bed, staring slowly around our bedroom. Her hair was wild, but her eyes were calm. The face I'd once believed had been crafted by loving, godly hands was blank.

I had to pause at the sight of her. The power to make me breathless was one that my wife alone possessed.

I'd wanted to let her sleep in; I'd had such a busy week and felt like I hadn't been able to give her my proper attention—not that she'd complained. I hadn't expected to find her awake when I'd creeped in for a different shirt.

She smiled at me as I buzzed around, grabbing what I needed.

"The kids getting up first is really messing with me lately," I said. "I don't want them starting the day without u—" I noticed she hadn't moved and quickly fetched her robe for her. "Here, before you get me in trouble."

She was still blinking the night from her eyes. "Come on, sleepyhead," I laughed, helping her into the silk robe.

How many times had she helped me into and out of clothes over the years when I was too tired or too sick?

On our way to the kitchen, I checked on the kids and exhaled in victory to find them still cocooned in their beds. Wren watched me intently.

When I reached our destination, it took me a moment to realize that she was gone. 

My search ended at the stairs, where Wren was walking along the base of the bottom step and didn't hear me hiss her name. 

But then she spotted me, smiled, and followed me to the kitchen.

As I decided on pancakes and got started, I spoke absently in a quiet voice about work, the day ahead, appointments. Twice, I caught Wren checking me out, and each time I lit up inside, glowing butterflies imagined in my belly.

Our son appeared, his long brown hair in his chubby face, his racing feet announcing him.

Wren smiled at him, too.

But he didn't return her smile. He froze, and then he ran back the way he'd come, wailing.

Wren turned curious eyes on me, and I just...stopped. As the plate of pancakes slid from my hands, she reached out to capture it—far too late, too late for the move to make sense.

Wren kneeled on the shards and didn't seem to notice her skin tearing. She picked up the pancakes, mixed with pieces of the broken plate, and—oblivious to my horror—offered them to me with a sheepish grin.

"I'm sorry," she said, "could you help me? Could you tell me where I am?"