Chapter 2: Shadows Behind the Door

I immediately pulled out my phone and called my wife. “The regional manager needs me to go on a business trip to the next county for five or six days. I have to leave now, so I’ll drop our son off at Mom’s place first.”

I tried to sound casual, like this was just another work trip. My hands shook as I held the phone, my thumb tracing circles on the phone case. The lie left a bad taste in my mouth, but I needed to see what she’d do.

On the other end, my wife sounded sweet as ever. “Babe, make sure you get some rest, and don’t fool around out there! When you get back, I’m checking your ammo supply.”

She laughed, like nothing was wrong. Was she joking, or was that a warning? I forced a smile she couldn’t see, my stomach churning.

I forced a laugh. Who was I kidding? After dropping off our son, I wandered around for a while.

The night air was cool, the streets mostly empty. I drove aimlessly, windows down, letting the city lights blur. I grabbed a coffee at a 24-hour diner. The waitress gave me a look, like she knew I didn’t belong there at 11 p.m., poking at cold eggs and colder suspicions.

I waited. Watched. Both bedroom lights flicked on that night. When I’m away on business, she usually sleeps with our son. But both bedrooms had their lights on—something wasn’t right.

I parked down the street, engine off, watching our apartment windows like some kind of amateur detective. My heart pounded. The hours dragged. Two lights on. Shadows moving behind the curtains. I told myself I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t leave.

I crept upstairs, slipped my key into the lock, and tried to turn it quietly. It wouldn’t budge.

The hallway was silent except for the faint hum of the elevator down the hall. My hands were slick with sweat. We never locked the door from the inside. Not once in all these years.

My pulse hammered in my ears. Every instinct screamed at me that something was wrong. I pressed my ear to the door. Listened. Nothing.

I knocked a few times. Inside, I heard the sound of someone stumbling around. My heart dropped.

It sounded like someone was scrambling, maybe trying to hide. My hands balled into fists. I knocked again, louder this time. Nerves stretched tight as piano wire.

I was ready to break it down. Then it swung open.

The door jerked open, and Lillian stood there, hair a mess, robe pulled tight. She looked startled, cheeks flushed, eyes wide like she’d seen a ghost. The hallway light cast a hard shadow across her face.

Her voice trembled, just a little. She gripped the doorframe, knuckles white. For a second, I almost believed she was scared for me, not of me.

She didn’t budge.

She blocked the doorway with her body, shoulders squared, bracing herself. I could smell her perfume, sharp and unfamiliar, mingling with the faint scent of aftershave.

I pushed past her, ready to go inside. I’d never been this rough with her outside the bedroom. Never needed to be. Never wanted to be.

She gasped as I brushed past, stumbling a little. My chest heaved. I scanned the entryway.

She snapped. “What are you doing?”

Her tone was sharp, defensive. I could hear the panic underneath. She reached for my arm. I shook her off.

I ignored her and stepped inside.

The apartment was too quiet, every shadow stretched long. I could hear my own breathing, heavy and ragged.

“Ethan, what’s your problem?”

She practically hissed my name, voice rising. Her eyes flashed—a warning I’d seen before, but never directed at me like this.

I kicked a pair of men’s leather shoes by the entryway. “What’s my problem? There are a man’s shoes in our house and you’re blocking the door. I should be asking you what’s going on.”

The shoes were scuffed, size eleven, definitely not mine. My blood ran cold. I nudged them with my foot, like if I looked away, they’d vanish.

She crossed her arms, chin up. “What, you think I’m hiding a man in here?”

Her defiance only made me angrier. I saw tears in her eyes. Didn’t care.

I snorted and kept walking.

I scanned every corner. Every shadow. Looking for evidence.

She grabbed my arm, nails digging in.

“Ethan, don’t be unreasonable. You disappear for ten days, two weeks at a time for work. Have I ever checked up on you? Ever doubted you? You said you’d be gone five days, and now you come back in the middle of the night just to catch me cheating? If that’s really how you think—always suspicious—then maybe we shouldn’t be together.”

Her voice cracked on the last words. She looked at me like I was the one who’d betrayed her.

I hesitated for a moment. My grip loosened.

For a second, I saw the woman I married—the one who used to dance barefoot in the kitchen, singing along to old Springsteen records. But those shoes were still there, and I couldn’t let it go.

My wife really had never given me any reason to doubt her all these years. But those shoes. Plain as day.

Pride and hurt warred inside me. I clenched my jaw. Refused to look away.

I knew pretending nothing was wrong would be the easy way out, but my pride wouldn’t let me. I’d rather watch my marriage burn than be made a fool.

My hands balled into fists. I could hear my father’s voice in my head.

I pushed her aside again and walked deeper into the apartment.

She stumbled back, nearly losing her balance. I didn’t stop.