Chapter 31

THEN:

Angela hesitated at the threshold of the bedroom before she stepped in.

The bedroom air hung heavy with an unfamiliar scent, sweet and floral, an invasion among the familiar. She swallowed hard. Her fingers brushed against the cool wall as if steadying herself against the swell of trepidation that rose within her chest like a tide.

Disheveled sheets clawed at the edges of the bed, tossed aside with careless abandon. The pattern of creases told a story Angela had never read—one written without her, in the ink of betrayal.

She approached the nightstand, each step measured, deliberate. There it was—the lipstick-stained glass of wine. Half-empty, its contents still, a mirror to the chaos churning inside her. Her hand hovered, trembling, above the curve of the stem, refraining from contact as though it might scald her skin.

"Will?" The word was a whisper, barely audible, a ghost of sound in the quiet room.

No answer came, but the room spoke volumes in its silence. The wine—red, bold, a favorite they shared on anniversaries—now stood as a bitter testament to her unraveling trust.

Her eyes, bright and searching, flitted across every surface, seeking evidence and lies. But there was only the glass, the perfume, the sheets—a triad of truth that bore into her, merciless and sharp.

"Damn you," she murmured, not loud enough for the world to hear but enough for her heart to feel.

Angela moved, each footfall a silent drumbeat marching her closer to the unbearable truth. The bathroom door stood ajar, a sliver of light cutting through the dimness. She could hear splashing waterandmuffled laughter—a symphony of the ordinary now grotesque in its implications.

She paused, breath held hostage by dread. Her hand found the door, pushing it wider with an assertiveness that belied her trembling limbs.

The sight unfurled before her like a nightmarish tapestry. Clothes, their clothes, littered the tile floor—his shirt, her dress—a breadcrumb trail of infidelity leading to the claw-foot tub.

And there, in the steaming water, entangled in an embrace as old as sin, were the two people Angela had trusted most: Will and her mother. Their skin flushed from warmth or wine, they were oblivious to the world crumbling outside their watery cocoon.

Angela's heart plummeted, shattering against the cold, hard reality beneath her feet. The air left the room, a vacuum where once was the promise of family and fidelity. Her eyes fixed on them, unblinking as if to sear the image into memory—a cruel reminder of the fragility of love and trust.

"Will?" It was barely a question, more an exhale of hopelessness, a single word carrying the weight of a thousand shattered dreams.

Time slowed, the only movement the lazy rise of steam whispering secrets to the indifferent walls.

His head jerked, eyes wide with shock, mouth agape. Their wet skin seemed to glisten with guilt under the harsh bathroom light. Her mother's eyes, a mirror of Angela's own, were clouded with something unreadable. The silence was deafening.

"Angela—" Will's voice broke, but she cut him off with a sharp raise of her hand. She stepped closer, the scattered clothes crunching beneath her feet.

"Explain," she demanded, her voice steady despite the chaos threatening to engulf her whole being.

He stuttered, no words forming, just the sound of betrayal sputtering from his lips. Her mother, too, was silent, her face a mask of remorse that couldn't hide the truth.

"Explain!" Angela repeated, louder now, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

"Angie, I—" her mother started, but Angela recoiled as if struck.

"Silence," she hissed, her gaze locked onto Will. "I'm talking to my husband. How could you, Will?" The whisper tore from her throat, each word laced with an agony that turned her blood to ice.

Her chest heaved, heart pounding against her ribcage like a caged bird desperate for escape. The room spun, walls closing in, threatening to crush her where she stood.

"Angela, please," Will pleaded, reaching out to her from the bath.

But she stepped back, repulsion and disbelief etching lines across her face. His touch, once sought after, was now toxic—an anathema to every memory they had built together.

"Please," he said again, his voice a mere shadow of the conviction it once held.

"Save your breath," Angela replied, each word a dagger plunging into the soft underbelly of their marriage. Her world, once vibrant with love and trust, lay in ruins at her feet.

She turned on her heel, leaving them behind in the steam and the lies, her exit silent save for the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears.