Chapter 29

THEN:

Angela's grip tightened on the shopping cart handle, a single tomato rolling from its perch onto the tile floor. She barely glanced at it. The aisles blurred as she pushed through her grocery list with robotic efficiency, her mind churning. The small receipt she had found that morningwas on her mind. It was tucked away in Will's jacket—too casual, too careless. It revealed a dinner for two when he should have been working late.

"Paper or plastic?" the cashier's words cut through her reverie.

"Plastic," Angela snapped, quicker than intended. Her apology was a murmured afterthought. She looked for her wallet in her purse, then realized she had forgotten it at home.

"I'm sorry, she said. "I seem to have forgotten…."

"It's okay," the cashier said. "We'll keep it here, and you can come back and get your groceries."

"I won't be long," she said. "I don't live far away."

She abandoned the cart without the usual bags in hand, the automatic doors shuddering behind her. The drive home was a blur, her thoughts a louder companion than the radio's chatter. Suspicion gnawed at her, a relentless pest. She was supposed to go to lunch before grocery shopping, but Sam had canceled at the last minute. She was coming home early. It would give her more time to prepare the meal for tonight. She was making something special, Will's favorite.

Roast and potatoes with gravy.

The turn into the driveway felt like crossing a threshold. Her pulse quickened; the steering wheel became slick under her palms. The car rolled to a stop, gravel crunching a finality that echoed in her chest.

Something was wrong. There was a car in the driveway that wasn't supposed to be there. Her heart dropped when she saw it.

"Keep it together," she whispered.

Her breaths came fast, uneven. A neighbor waved. Angela managed a half-hearted smile before she turned, the weight of her discovery anchoring her to the spot for a heartbeat too long.

"Stay calm, it's probably nothing. Don't get in your head; you know how you get," she urged herself, stepping out of the car and into the unknown that was her own front yard. Her resolve deepened with every stride toward the house. She couldn't lose her cool. She couldn't jump to conclusions again. Her therapist had taught her how to handle her emotions when they got the better of her. Breathing techniques. Thinking of something pleasant, and don't keep swirling around the same old thoughts of doom and betrayal.

So, she breathed. She took deep, long breaths and told herself it was nothing. Everything was fine. Of course, it was.

Each step up the pathway felt charged, a deliberate march toward impending doom. She did her best not to make it feel that way. She told herself it was her who was wrong. She was the crazy one.

Her fingers danced a frenzied ballet around her keyring, keys jangling in discordance with her racing heart. The silver of the house key caught the afternoon light, a mocking glint before it slipped into the lock. She willed her hands steady, cursing the tremor that betrayed her inner tumult.

"Come on," she muttered, teeth gritted.

The lock yielded, and Angela shouldered the door open, stepping across the threshold into a silent void.

The stillness greeted Angela like an accusation. She paused to listen, the hum of the refrigerator piercing the quiet.

"It's very quiet," she whispered.

Angela's steps were soundless on the plush carpet as she moved through the living room. Her gaze cut sharp angles around the space, over the mantle where family portraits stood sentinel, to the corners where shadows gathered like conspirators.

Nothing was out of place, yet everything felt amiss. A cushion on the sofa sat too perfectly fluffed as if to say, "I've been touched." The very air seemed to hold its breath, charged with the unsaid, unseen.

Angela's hands grazed the back of the couch, her fingers tracing the fabric, searching for warmth left behind by another. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, a rhythm trying to sync with the truth that lay just beyond reach.

"Show me," she commanded the silence, her voice a mere thread of sound.

A blazer. And it wasn't Will's. It was a woman's. It was draped casually over the arm of the couch. Angela's breath caught—a silent gasp that clawed at her throat. The fabric was unfamiliar, the color too bold for her taste. It lay there, a flag of conquest, an emblem of betrayal.

"Whose is this?" Her voice barely broke the hush, a ghostly whisper to herself.

The air turned colder, or so it seemed to Angela, as she clutched her arms around her chest. She could feel the texture of the jacket in her mind, coarse and intrusive. The very sight of it—out of place, unwelcome—sent tremors down her spine.

Her heart hammered against her ribcage, each beat a drumroll of dread. She took a step, then another, her movements stiff and robotic. The echo of her footsteps filled the house, tapping against the hardwood floor as she approached the staircase.

"Keep going," she urged herself, each word punctuating her resolve.

Angela's hand trembled as it met the cool wood of the banister, her grip tightening with each step she ascended. The staircase seemed to stretch before her, an uphill battle toward a truth she wasn't sure she wanted to face. Step by step, she moved through the dim light, shadows playing tricks on her eyes.

"Stay calm," she muttered to herself, her voice a mere thread of sound in the vast canvas of silence enveloping the house.

She reached the landing, feet planted firmly on the upper floor. Heart racing, Angela paused, her breaths shallow and rapid. Her gaze swept across the hallway—left to right, right to left. Nothing seemed amiss, yet everything felt wrong.

"Show me everything," she whispered, almost a challenge to the universe or anyone who dared shatter her world. "I need to know."

The door to the bedroom was left ajar. Inside was a whisper of movement, the faintest shift in the air. Her eyes locked onto these subtle cues, each one a potential harbinger of the heartache lurking just beyond the threshold.

"Will?" Angela's call was a blade slicing the stillness, sharp and clear.

No answer came, only the heavy thud of her own heartbeat filling her ears. She edged forward, every sense heightened, anticipating the crack of her life splitting apart.

"It's probably nothing," she breathed, though relief eluded her. The house betrayed her with its normalcy, its quiet compliance in masking the chaos that surely simmered beneath.

"Where are you?" Her question hung in the air, unanswered, as she approached their bedroom door, the last sentinel guarding the secrets within.