The Wrong Door
1103 Words
FIYIN
The day began like most others—slow and quiet.
Feddie had told me during breakfast—well, not to me, but out loud while standing in the kitchen—that he had meetings all day. That meant I had until 6:45 before he’d walk through that door. I’d memorized the sound of his keys by now. He always jiggled them twice before the lock clicked.
But at 3:07 p.m., the door unlocked with no warning.
That wasn’t Feddie. It wasn’t Thursday—no cook, no cleaner. My heart clenched.
I tiptoed into the hallway and peered down the staircase.
A woman walked in like she owned the house—tall, blonde, striking in that high-maintenance, moneyed way. She wore an expensive-looking coat and even more expensive-looking resentment.
She froze when she saw me.
“What the hell…” she said, eyes scanning me like I’d spilled ink on her designer carpet. “Who are you?”
I took a breath. “I—I live here.”
She scoffed and walked deeper into the house. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I’m his girlfriend.”
I felt something shift in the air.
Girlfriend?
But Feddie never mentioned anyone.
She turned sharply. “You didn’t answer me. Who are you?”
The words came out before I could stop them.
“You’re Isabelle.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
My stomach tightened. I hadn’t meant to say it. I didn’t know her name. Not really. But it felt as familiar as a scent from a dream.
“How do you know my name?”
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know. I just… did.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, then contempt.
“Well,” she sneered. “Isn’t that interesting. He must have been talking about me. Maybe calling me in his sleep after your little sleepovers?”
I stayed quiet.
“Wow. He really downgraded,” she said, stepping closer, eyes full of ice. “This is why he won’t pick up my calls? Why security won’t let me into his office? Because of you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, backing a little toward the stairs.
“No? Of course you don’t. You’re just the new pet. The fresh charity case. Let me guess—he found you, all broken and wide-eyed, and brought you home like some tragic puppy.”
I clenched my hands. “You should go.”
She laughed—a short, bitter sound.
“Oh no, sweetheart. You should go. You have no idea who you’re dealing with. I was there long before you, and when I want something, I don’t let little things like you get in the way.”
She leaned closer, her voice like venom wrapped in velvet.
“And just so we’re clear—this ends. Either because he gets tired of you… or because I make it end.”
She meant it. I could feel it. Not just in her tone, but in my bones.
The lock jiggled—twice.
Relief flooded me.
The door opened and Feddie walked in, face calm but instantly alert.
He saw her. Then me.
“Isabelle.”
“Finally,” she said, smile flipping on like a switch. “You’ve been so hard to reach.”
Feddie shut the door behind him, his body language shifting—tightening.
“I asked you not to come here.”
“Right. After you ghosted me? After you told the office to treat me like some security threat? You really think I was going to just sit still while you moved on with…”
Her eyes cut toward me.
“…whatever this is?”
Feddie’s jaw flexed. “Leave.”
“Wow.” Her voice cracked slightly. “So that’s it? No explanation? No apology?”
“There’s nothing left to explain.”
“Then what is she doing here?”
“She has nothing to do with you.”
“Oh, I think she does,” Isabelle snapped. “You never let me inside this house. Not once. Always had some ‘rule.’ But now this—this barefoot, nameless little—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Feddie said, his tone like a slammed door.
She stared at him, stunned. Then her expression twisted.
She turned to me.
“Enjoy the fantasy while it lasts, Rose. He’ll lose interest. They always do.”
With that, she stormed past Feddie and slammed the door behind her.
Silence settled like dust.
Feddie sighed, tossing his keys onto the table, hand dragging down his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“She didn’t know I was here?” I asked.
“She wasn’t supposed to. I warned security to keep her away.”
I looked down at my feet. “She said… some things.”
He walked slowly to the edge of the room, not coming too close.
“I don’t care what she said,” he murmured. “She lost the right to have opinions about me the day she betrayed my trust.”
I didn’t respond.
He leaned against the wall, looking at me like he was waiting for something. An answer. A reaction. Anything.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
I gave a small nod.
“She said this wouldn’t last,” I added after a pause. “That you’d get tired.”
He was silent.
Then he said, “She said that to me, too. When she wanted me to stay.”
I looked up. Our eyes met.
There was a softness in his expression. A quiet regret I hadn’t seen before.
“I didn’t ask to be here,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said. “But you are.”
He walked over to the other side of the room and pulled open a small cabinet. After a pause, he took out a delicate ceramic box and handed it to me.
“Here. For you.”
I opened it. Inside was a small obsidian stone on a leather string—simple, old, but oddly warm in my hand.
“It’s for protection,” he said. “My grandmother gave it to me. I used to wear it when I needed courage.”
I stared at it.
“Why are you giving it to me?” I asked.
“Because something tells me you’re going to need it more than I do right now.”
My chest tightened—but not from fear.
Something inside me shifted.
Not a memory.
But a feeling.
Like maybe… I wasn’t alone anymore.
- Writer
