Read When I Was You for Free Online Page A

his desk, my eye drawn to a vintage La Fendrich cigar box with one of those cardboard lids that flips open with the flick of a finger. And then, without thinking, I open the box.
    It’s filled—dozens of wrapped Cuban cigars.
    Maybe I’m oversimplifying, but if smoking causes cancer, why would an oncologist want anything to do with cigars? I guess if it’s a once in a while type of thing, maybe the risk is negligible? I’ve never once known him to smell like smoke, and there are obviously a few cigars missing. Perhaps he’s careful about it? Perhaps he’s respecting the fact that I’m not a smoker myself? Or perhaps he’s ashamed . . .
    I inhale the tobacco scent one last time, shut the lid, and place the box back where I found it.
    We all have our vices.
    I have every intention of seeing myself out when I spot a small notebook leaning against the lamp on his desk. How I missed it before, I’m not sure. The jacket is covered in tropical flowers, hibiscus and the like, and the spine is turquoise—hardly Niall’s style.
    With a lump in my throat and guilt flooding my veins, I swipe the notebook from its place. Upon careful inspection, I realize it isn’t cheap. It isn’t some four dollar back-to-school notebook from a big-box store. The floral cover is leather and embossed with the initials K.E.
    Flipping to the inside, my heart comes to a sharp stop when I’m met with the words: P ROPERTY O F K ATE E MBERLIN.
    Fingertips buzzing, I page through what appears to be a handwritten journal.
    June 23
    Niall worked late again last night. It must have escaped him that it was our anniversary, just like it escaped him last month that we had tickets to Aida and the month before when it escaped him that it was my birthday . . .
    I’d prepared his favorite dinner complete with candles and ambient music. Dinner went cold and uneaten after I’d lostmy appetite. I blew the candles out shortly after nine. He didn’t come home until eleven and I pretended to be asleep as he kissed my cheek and climbed into bed.
    I know his career is everything, but once upon a time I was his everything too. Some days it’s as though I’m sharing him with another woman . . .
    I’m not sure how much more of this I can take—the forgetfulness and loneliness. I miss him. I miss my husband. I miss the man I married.
    There’s a familiarity about the handwriting, though I can’t quite place it . . .
    It’s almost like mine, I suppose, but not quite. One-off, maybe?
    “What are you doing in here?”
    My stomach plummets when I look to the doorway and find Niall standing before me. The notebook falls from my hands and lands on the floor. To my surprise, he doesn’t appear angry in the slightest. There’s no flash of rage in his ocean-blue eyes. No pinch to his aquiline nose. No set to his angled jaw.
    “I was checking the windows, making sure everything was locked,” I say, speaking so fast my words blur together.
    I rise from the chair and move toward the doorway, a gesture to show him I’m done here.
    “I’m sorry,” I say as he studies me, his expression unreadable. “Please don’t be mad. It’s just . . . the other night was so real, I—”
    “It was a visual disturbance, I can assure you,” he says, his tone calm and steady and reassuring. “All the doors and windows were locked both nights. It was just me and you here. No one else.”
    His words ease my mind, but my body is still tight, wound.
    I don’t address the journal. The heat of shame is too hot, too fresh. I need to find the right words, though I’m not sure those exist in this situation.
    I was in the wrong.
    I let curiosity steer the ship.
    And now I’m humiliated.
    “Here,” he says, wrapping his long fingers around my wrist. He leads me to his bedroom next, and I realize I still haven’t asked why he came back. “Why don’t you check the windows while I’m here? It’ll make you feel better.”
    Now I feel silly. But we’re standing in the