Chapter 23

THEN:

Angela's gaze clung to the scene unfolding beyond the sheer curtains of the living room window. Will, her husband, stood just outside, his silhouette casting a long shadow across the freshly cut grass. They had made up from their last fight. It had been good for a while, but Angela kept her eyes open. Her friend Sam told her to look for someone closer to home instead of dating apps and social media. Now, she was staring at precisely that—someone very close to her home… too close. Carol, their neighbor, approached Will with a stride that suggested a casual encounter, but Angela's intuition prickled with unease.

"Hey, Will!" Carol's voice was light and airy.

"Carol, nice to see you," Will replied, his tone friendly yet reserved.

Angela watched, her heart drumming as Carol tilted her head back, laughter spilling from her lips at something Will had said. She stepped closer to him, her body language open and inviting.

Too darn inviting.

The sun glinted off Carol's auburn hair, igniting it like autumn leaves in an October sun. She reached out, her fingers brushing against Will's arm in a touch that lingered. It was subtle, perhaps meaningless to an unobservant eye. But Angela saw. She felt each feather-light contact like a weight dropping into her stomach.

"Really?" Carol said, her hand resting a beat too long on his bicep. "That's hilarious."

Angela's breath caught. The air in the room seemed too thin, her fingers tightening on the windowsill's edge. Will chuckled, shifting his weight, but he did not step back. Not immediately.

Carol leaned in, her shoulder nearly brushing against Will's. Her smile was wide, teeth gleaming white against her red lipstick. Her voice dipped lower, words lost to Angela, but the message was clear.

Intimate. Private.

What the heck? Right in front of me?

Angela's pulse pounded in her ears, every flirtatious gesture by Carol amplifying the cacophony of suspicion in her mind. The touching. The leaning. The proximity that screamed more than neighborly friendliness.

Will finally put a subtle space between them, a gentle barrier. Yet Carol's eyes locked onto his, unyielding, conveying a silent challenge that tore through Angela's composure. Angela's throat tightened, each breath a battle as she fought the urge to shatter the glassy barrier that kept her a silent spectator to this unfolding play of potential betrayal.

The door slammed behind her, and the sound was a sharp crack that split the air. Angela's heart thundered against her ribs as she stalked across the lawn, eyes locked on the two figures entwined in conversation. Her shadow stretched long and angry over the manicured grass.

"Carol!" The name erupted from her lips, a bullet shot from a gun.

Carol turned, surprise etching her features for a fleeting second before she schooled her face into a mask of innocence. Will swiveled, his expression one of confusion that shifted quickly to concern.

"Angela, what?—?"

"Stay away from him," Angela spat, cutting through Will's words like a knife slicing silk. She was close now—too close, her finger jabbing toward Carol's chest with an accusing zeal.

"Trying to steal my husband?" Her voice climbed, a crescendo of fury. "Right in front of me?"

"Angela, please—" Will reached out, but she pulled away.

"Will, talk some sense into her; she's out of control," Carol said, but Angela barely registered the plea. Her focus narrowed to the woman before her, the perceived threat that sent adrenaline coursing through her veins.

"Stay away from Will," Angela repeated, each word a hammer pounding the finality of her command. Her breaths came fast and shallow, painting the autumn chill with the heat of her rage.

"Or you'll regret it."

Carol's hands lifted, a barrier to the onslaught. "Angela, this isn't what it looks like. We were just?—"

"Chatting?" Angela's laugh was brittle, jagged. "I'm not blind, Carol."

"Really, it's not—" Carol's protest withered under Angela's glare.

"Save it." Angela stepped closer, voice low and menacing. "I see how you look at him."

"Angela…."

"Shut up!" The command sliced through Carol's feeble defense and severed it clean. Her voice boomed now, unrecognizable even to her own ears—a tempest unleashed. "You think I don't notice? The 'casual' touches, the sly glances?"

"Angela, please—" Carol's eyes darted, seeking an escape that wasn't there.

"Stay away from my family." Each word was a bullet, precise and lethal. "Stay away from my life."

"Angela, listen to me," Carol implored, but her words evaporated in the raw heat of Angela's fury.

"Or what?" Angela's voice crescendoed, a violent wave crashing against the shore. "You'll what, Carol?"

"Nothing! I swear, Angela?—"

"Swear on what? Your deceit?" Angela's scorn was palpable, thick in the air between them. "I don't want your empty promises."

"Angela, no threats are necessary," Carol tried, a tremor in her voice betraying her composure.

"Threats?" Angela's laugh was dark, humorless. "No, these are promises, Carol. Promises."

"Angela…." Carol backtracked a step, a silent plea for reprieve.

"Stay. Away." The finality in Angela's tone left no room for argument, an iron-clad decree as she towered over Carol, an avenging fury in human form.

"Enough." Will's hand was on Angela's shoulder, a firm yet gentle weight. "Angela, come back inside."

She spun, her blue eyes alight with the fire of betrayal. "You're defending her?" Her voice was a whip, each word stinging.

"Defending? No, I'm—" Will's gaze flickered between the two women, seeking a foothold in the maelstrom.

"Allowing," she spat the word as if it were venom. "Allowing her to worm her way into our lives."

"Angela, you're seeing things that aren't there." His words, meant to be soothing, only fueled the flames.

"Seeing? Or doyou just wish I was blind to it?" Her chest heaved with the force of her breaths, an accusing finger pointed squarely at him now.

"Please, let's go inside and talk about this," Will pleaded, his voice tight, laced with urgency.

"Talk?" She laughed, cold and bitter. "Like you 'talk' with Carol?"

"Angela, stop this!" Will's hands held her arms, but his grip faltered under the sheer heat of her anger.

"Stop protecting her!" She shook free, eyes never leaving his, a silent demand for truth.

"Protecting? I am not—" He struggled for composure, his plea dissolving into the chill of the coming night.

"Angela, you know I would never do anything to hurt you," Will's voice cracked like thin ice beneath heavy steps, his eyes searching hers for some sign of the trust they once shared.

"Wouldn't you?" Angela's retort cut through the thick air, each word a shard of glass. "Then why is it always her?"

"Always her? You're not being fair." He shook his head, the lines of stress etched across his brow deepening.

"Fair?" She scoffed, her laugh sharp and hollow. "And what about me, Will? What is fair about this, about feeling second in my own home?"

"Second? That's not how it is." His defense was swift, but his voice wavered, betraying him. "We barely ever talk."

"Isn't it?" Her voice rose, a crescendo of pain and betrayal. "Isn't it, Will?"

"Listen to yourself, Angela! This is madness!" Will's hands flailed, grasping at the remnants of their normalcy.

"Madness?" She echoed, her face contorted with anguish. "No, this is clarity! It's seeing things exactly as they are. I've been blind for so long. God, have I been blind."

"Please, Ange—" he reached out, but she recoiled as if from a flame.

"Don't!" She stepped back, arms wrapped around herself as though holding the pieces of her heart together. "Just don't."

"Angela, this isn't you," Will implored, his voice edged with desperation now.

"Isn't me?" Tears glistened in Angela's eyes, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Or is it just not the me you want to see?"

"Angela…." The word was a plea, a lifeline thrown into churning waters.

"Enough," she breathed, a whisper that held the weight of finality. "Just enough."

Will watched, helpless, as she turned away, leaving behind a silence that spoke volumes.

Back inside, Angela's fists clenched, nails digging crescents into her palms. Her breath became erratic. The house loomed around her, walls whispering secrets, each family portrait a mocking jeer. She was pacing back and forth on the Persian rug that had witnessed better days. Her heart thrummed a chaotic rhythm, every beat screaming betrayal.

No wonder Will wouldn't sleep with her. He slept with Carol, didn't he? That's why. That was why he refused her all the time. How long had this been going on? Years?

"Angela," Will's voice cut through the fog of her thoughts as he closed the door with a soft click. He approached her, his footsteps hesitant.

"Stay back," she spat without turning, her voice a serrated blade.

"Please, let me explain," he implored, reaching for her shoulder.

She whirled around, shrugging off his touch like a shroud of flames. "Explain? Your lies are clear enough!"

"Angie, it's not what you think," Will's words tumbled out, desperate to bridge the chasm between them. "She's our neighbor. I was just being friendly."

"Isn't it what I think?" Angela countered, eyes ablaze, searching his face for a sliver of truth in an ocean of deceit. "You must take me for a fool."

"Believe me." His hands were up now, pleading. "I love you."

"Love?" A hollow laugh escaped her. "Your 'love' is a poison."

"Angela, stop this," he tried to steady her with a touch, but she recoiled, feeling like a wounded animal cornered by its predator.

"Stop? You've torn us apart!" Her voice surged, each word punctuated by the hammering of her pulse.

"Let me help—" Will's plea strangled as he reached for her again.

"Help?" Angela jerked away, tears welling, threatening to spill. "You've done enough."

"Angie, I'm here for you, for us," he persisted, voice quivering on the edge of despair.

"Us?" she echoed, the word foreign, tainted. "There is no 'us' in betrayal."

"Listen to me!" Will's command was more a broken whisper than an authoritative directive. "What do you want me to do? I am being totally honest about my addiction with you. Yet you seem to think I'm always hiding something. You're constantly asking me about receipts for restaurants I barely remember going toor why I changed my passwords somewhere when it was because I was asked to or because I had forgotten them. You call me at work constantly, and if I don't answer, you immediately spin some crazy story about me doing God only knows what when I'm actually attending to patients, which is my job. You gotta stop this insane behavior, Angela. You have to listen to me."

"Listening's overrated," she hissed, turning away from him, from their life splintering at the seams.

"Angela, please," he begged, one last attempt to salvage the wreckage.

"Save your breath, Will." Her shoulders stiffened, a fortress wall against his entreaties. "Just save it."

Her stride carried her through the tempest of emotion, each step a declaration, leaving Will to grapple with the silence that swallowed his pleas whole.

Angela's back slammed against the hallway wall, her breaths shallow and rapid. She slid down, knees buckling, hands trembling as they sought the cool solidity of the floorboards. The house echoed with the residue of their argument, each thud of her heartbeat a reminder of the discord.

"Angie." Will's voice scratched the charged air, barely louder than a whisper.

"Leave me be," she managed through gritted teeth.

He hovered, a specter of concern, his shadow merging with the fading light. "This isn't us."

"Isn't it?" Her voice was venom, laced with disbelief. The notion of "us" had become a cruel joke.

"Please," he implored, kneeling at arm's length, reaching out only with his gaze.

"Enough," Angela spat, the word sharp, a shard of glass. She pushed to her feet, ignoring the dizziness that swam around her.

"Angela—" His plea cut short as she held up a hand, silencing him.

"Silent house, silent vows," she muttered, a mantra to keep the fury at bay. Her eyes swept the room, once a sanctuary, now tainted—memories distorted by suspicion's ugly hue. The kids were in their rooms. She didn't want them to see her like this.

"Talk to me." Will's voice cracked, his form blurred by the tears she refused to shed.

"Angela, we can?—"

"Can we?" Skepticism dripped from her lips, her glance slicing through his unfinished sentence.

"Damn it, listen!" He rose, frustration etching lines into his once-familiar face.

"Listening's done." She turned away, her movement deliberate, a slow burn in a sea of chaos. She ran away from him.

"Where are you going?" Desperation tinged his voice, but she was already past hearing.

"Somewhere quiet," she said, half to herself, craving the silence that promised no lies, no whispers of betrayal.

"Angela!" His call was a tether she severed with the closing of the door behind her.

The bedroom welcomed her with open arms, a false comfort in its unchanged appearance. Clothes lay folded, and pictures smiled from their frames, but the air was different—thick with words unsaid, feelings unmet.

The mirror caught her reflection, a stranger with eyes like storm clouds, charged with electricity yet to strike.

She breathed in and out, a rhythm seeking calm amidst theturmoil. The anger hummed beneath her skin, a live wire without an outlet.

"Steady now," she whispered, fists clenching and unclenching, willing the anger to subside, to give way to clarity.

"Angela?" Will's voice seeped through the wood, cautious, a knock softer than a heartbeat.

"Go away," she called back, her tone a barrier he couldn't breach.

"Angie, I'm sorry," his words muffled, an offering laid at the altar of their love.

"Sorry doesn't patch holes," she replied, cold, resolute.

"Let me in," he persisted, the doorknob jiggling gently.

"I locked it," she stated, flat. Not just the door, but her heart too, encased in ice.

"Please," he tried again, his presence a weight against the other side.

"Goodnight, Will," she said, finality lacing the farewell, the evening sun casting long shadows across the bed.

"Angela…."

"Goodnight," she repeated, stronger, a full stop to their day's tumultuous sentence.

The house settled around her, creaks and groans of a structure strained, mirroring the tension that clung to her like a second skin. Silence enveloped her, a temporary reprieve, but under the calm surface, her anger simmered, unresolved, threatening to boil over once more.