Revenge Wears Red

CHAPTER FOUR: STORMS BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

Ariella rushed outside, her slippers slapping against the pavement. “Annabel, wait!” she called just as her friend was about to enter her white Cadillac. Annabel paused, her hand frozen on the car door. She turned slowly, eyes red-rimmed and glossy. “I’m so so sorry about everything he said,” Ariella said breathlessly. “You didn’t deserve that.” Annabel gave a small nod, biting her lip to stop the tremble. “It’s okay.”“No, it’s not he didn't have the right to hurt your feelings like that when you were just trying to help,” Ariella insisted. “But by the way, why didn’t you ever tell me what you were going through?” “I didn’t want to burden you,” Annabel admitted, blinking away the tears. “You already had enough on your plate with your marriage and all.”

Ariella stepped closer and touched her arm gently. “Annabel... We’re not just friends. We’re sisters. We go through our mess together. You’ve always been there for me, even through all my chaos. Why would you think I wouldn’t be there for you or that you would be a burden?” A weak smile broke through Annabel’s sadness. Ariella pulled her in for a tight hug, her palm gently patting Annabel’s back. “We’ll get through it. Both of us,” she said softly. “Together.” Annabel nodded against her shoulder.

After a few more quiet seconds, they pulled apart. “Take care of yourself,” Ariella said. “You too,” Annabel replied.

They said their goodbyes, and Annabel climbed into her car, shutting the door gently. The Cadillac purred to life and pulled out of the driveway.

On the road, Annabel drove with fire behind her eyes, gripping the steering wheel tightly as she pulled into the Hawkins compound. The house wasn’t as grand as the Jones mansion, but it stood proud—two stories tall, with cream walls and grey stone borders. The front porch had a swing that never got used anymore, and the lawn was neatly trimmed though a little dry. A small rose garden stood off to one side, half in bloom, half withering.

Inside, the living room was simple and functional. Beige couches framed the modest flat-screen TV that was currently tuned to the evening news. A dusty family portrait hung over the mantel, showing brighter days.

Brian was sprawled on the couch, remote in hand, legs crossed lazily as he sipped from a cold bottle of malt.

Annabel stormed in, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. “Did you tell Vincent about our problems?” she demanded. Brian sat up slowly, unphased. “And what if I did?.” Her jaw clenched. “How dare you? You’re out there announcing our family issues to the world like it’s some kind of radio show?” “I’m tired, Annabel!” Brian snapped. “Tired of keeping it all in. Tired of smiling through the misery. For nearly three years, this marriage has dragged me into hell, and I’m done dying in silence.”

Annabel crossed her arms, her voice dripping with venom. “Maybe if you had money like the Jones, we wouldn’t be in this mess. But you’re just a lazy ass fool who watches TV all day and expects the world to change for him.” Annabel snatches the TV remote from Brian and turns off the TV.

Brian laughed bitterly. “You’re unbelievable. You think money would fix this? You haven’t worked a day in your life, but you feel entitled to every god-damned thing. You walk around like the world owes you comfort, like I’m supposed to bleed for your designer shoes. I have done everything to please you but it's never enough” His voice rose. “And you didn’t even tell me you were sleeping over at your friend’s house! You left Andre alone to go play best friend and marriage counselor!”

Their shouts echoed through the house. Then, a small sniffle.

Both turned to see little Andre standing by the hallway entrance, his toy car in hand, eyes filled with tears. “Mommy… Daddy…” he whimpered.

Brian rushed over and scooped him into his arms. “It’s okay, buddy. Daddy’s here.” He kissed the top of his head, guilt etched into his face. Still holding Andre, he turned back to Annabel. “Maybe we should just end this. Split up. You take your attitude, and I’ll take my peace. And maybe then you’ll learn to value what I’ve given you.”

Annabel’s face twisted with rage. “Go on! Let's end this! But you are not taking my son!” “We’ll see about that,” Brian growled. Without another word, he walked past her, disappearing into Andre’s room.

Annabel stood there, breath ragged, chest heaving. Her eyes blazed with fury, but behind it was pain—raw and unhealed.

She marched to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.