Chapter 8
854 Words
The hum of the washing machine filled the laundry room, steady and low, like a heartbeat. Maya stood leaning against the counter, arms folded, staring at the spin cycle as though it could wash away the knots in her chest.
She had been at Ethan’s house for just over a week. Long enough to fall into a rhythm, waking early, helping Lily with breakfast, tidying, folding, cooking. Long enough to learn the squeak of the upstairs stair, the way Lily liked her apples peeled, the way Ethan always checked the locks twice before bed.
It should have been easy. Simple. A job.
But nothing about it felt simple anymore.
Especially not when Ethan was around.
This morning, he had come into the kitchen while she was cleaning the counters. He had been dressed for work, crisp shirt, tie knotted just so, the scent of his aftershave faint but sharp. He’d paused only briefly, offering her a polite “Good morning” in that quiet baritone, before grabbing his travel mug.
She’d muttered back a reply, eyes on the rag in her hand, her pulse unreasonably quick.
It wasn’t what he said...it was what he didn’t. The way his presence filled a room without demanding it. The way his eyes flicked toward her as if he wanted to ask something but swallowed it back.
And the strangest part: she didn’t feel unsafe. She felt… seen.
Too seen.
And that was dangerous.
The washer beeped, dragging her back. She pulled out the clothes, Lily’s tiny dresses, soft cotton pajamas, a pair of Ethan’s neatly pressed shirts, and folded them one by one, smoothing the fabric, inhaling the faint smell of detergent.
It was domestic, ordinary. But for Maya, it felt like trespassing.
Her phone buzzed on the shelf. She jumped, nearly dropping one of the shirts.
The screen lit up with a name she hadn’t seen in months.
Eric.
Her throat tightened.
She let the phone buzz until it went still. Then again, until silence finally returned.
Her fingers hovered over the screen, but she didn’t touch it. She couldn’t. Not now, not ever, if she was smart.
She shoved the phone into her pocket, forcing her focus back to the laundry. But the shirts blurred in front of her, her hands trembling slightly as she folded.
Eric’s voice was one she’d tried to erase. Sweet when he wanted, sharp when he didn’t. Apologies followed by demands. Promises that dissolved the moment she needed him most.
She had left because staying meant disappearing, piece by piece.
And yet, one call was enough to drag her right back into the shadows.
“Maya?”
She flinched, spinning around. Ethan stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, a file in his hand. His brow creased when he saw her face.
“Everything alright?”
She swallowed hard, forcing her voice steady. “Yes. Just… startled. Didn’t hear you.”
His gaze lingered on her for a moment, steady, searching. He didn’t press, but something in his eyes said he noticed more than she wanted him to.
He nodded toward the laundry basket. “You don’t have to do my shirts. I can handle those.”
“It’s fine,” she said quickly. “I don’t mind.”
Silence stretched between them. Then Ethan’s mouth curved in the faintest, briefest hint of a smile. “Lily will be upset if you fold hers wrong, though. She has opinions about her unicorn pajamas.”
Maya managed a laugh, the tension in her chest easing just slightly. “She already told me. Twice.”
He chuckled, low and warm, and then turned away, heading back toward his office.
Maya exhaled slowly when he was gone, her shoulders slumping against the counter.
It shouldn’t matter, his concern, his humor, the way he noticed things without asking. But it did. And that scared her more than the phone call.
Because Eric’s voice reminded her of where she’d been. Ethan’s reminded her of what she could almost believe in again.
And she wasn’t sure which was more dangerous.
The rest of the day unfolded in small, quiet moments. Lily insisted on building a pillow fort in the living room, and Maya helped her stack cushions while Ethan looked on from his armchair, pretending to read but smiling into the page.
At lunch, Lily demanded that Maya sit beside her, not across, because “the food tastes better when you’re close.”
Ethan said little, but Maya felt his gaze flicker between them more than once.
And later, when Maya was washing dishes, she glanced out the window and saw Ethan in the yard with Lily. He was teaching her how to throw a ball, patient, gentle, laughing when she missed. It was a softer version of him than she’d ever seen.
Something inside her clenched.
This wasn’t her life. This wasn’t her family.
But standing there with her hands in soapy water, listening to their laughter drift through the window, it was the closest she’d come to belonging in years.
And she didn’t know how much longer she could pretend she didn’t want it.
- Writer
