Free Sample
Preview from chapter one
The soft glow of the moon casts a serene light through the kitchen window, where Monica, a 37-year-old woman with auburn hair pulled into a loose bun and wearing a comfortable floral nightgown, is washing the last of the dinner dishes. The house is quiet except for the distant chuckle of a neighbor's laughter and the occasional creak of the old hardwood floors. She sighs, feeling a mix of loneliness and resentment. Edward, her 45-year-old husband, is out again at the local pub, a place he frequents almost every weekend.
Monica turns off the faucet and dries her hands with a dishtowel, the sound of the water's final drops echoing in the stillness of the kitchen. She glances at the clock hanging above the fridge, the hands pointing almost to midnight. The tension in her shoulders tightens as she realizes Edward is likely to stumble through the door any moment now, his laughter and cheerful banter from the pub replaced by slurred words and stumbling steps. With a heavy sigh, she decides to get ready for bed, hoping for a quiet night. She pads softly down the hallway, the floorboards whispering a secret history of their marriage under her bare feet. Entering the bedroom, she sees the bedside lamp still casting a warm glow, untouched since she had turned it on hours ago. She changes into her nightgown and slides between the cool sheets, feeling the emptiness beside her. Her thoughts drift to better days, before the pub had claimed so many of Edward's evenings. She tries to ignore the knot in her stomach that forms every time she thinks about their dwindling connection. The pillow feels like a cold, silent confidant against her cheek.
The quietude of the night is shattered by the sound of the front door slamming shut, followed by Edward's unsteady footsteps. Monica's eyes fly open, and she watches the shadows dance on the bedroom wall as he fumbles his way down the hallway. She pulls the covers up to her chin, feeling the weight of their unspoken words pressing down on her. The floorboards complain with every step he takes, and she can almost smell the faint scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke. She grits her teeth, willing herself to stay calm, and listens as he clumsily tries to navigate the darkness of their once shared sanctuary.
Monica's heart skips a beat as she distinguishes another voice accompanying Edward's. She strains to listen, trying to make out the words through the fog of sleep and the muffled sounds of their conversation. The unmistakable tone of a man's voice, not just slurred but also unfamiliar, reaches her ears. She wonders who he has brought home this time. Her mind races, a tornado of fear and anger swirling through her thoughts. She decides to stay in bed, feigning sleep, and observe from the shadows. The whispers become clearer as they approach the bedroom door, and she can almost feel the warmth of their breath as it slips under the crack.