The Cracks Beneath
1249 Words
Vanessa sat at her desk, staring blankly at the report glowing on her screen. Numbers and charts meant nothing this morning. Her mind wasn’t at work—it was still in her car, parked outside that downtown co-working space, watching Ethan disappear into a glass building with hope tucked under his arm.
She had dropped him off an hour ago, but his warmth lingered like a song she couldn’t shake.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
She had built this plan carefully: track the mistress, figure out what had seduced her husband, and dismantle their fantasy piece by piece. But Ethan... Ethan had walked into her life like a breath of unfiltered air. And somehow, she found herself exhaling again.
The evening air hung thick with the scent of rain-soaked concrete and something simmering in Tessa’s tiny kitchen. Ethan sat at the edge of the couch, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt while Tessa stirred a pot of tomato sauce, humming faintly to herself.
He cleared his throat.
“I think I like her.”
Tessa turned slightly, brow raised. “Vanessa?”
Ethan looked up, surprised. “You knew?”
She smirked. “You’ve been glowing like a twelve-year-old with a secret crush every time you come back from seeing her.”
Ethan chuckled. “She’s... different.”
“Different how?”
“She listens. She doesn’t ask stupid questions or try too hard. It’s like she’s got this whole world in her head, and somehow I want to be part of it.”
Tessa leaned against the counter, drying her hands slowly with a dish towel. Her smile stayed, but her eyes dimmed.
She had noticed the shift—Vanessa’s cool poise, the way Ethan’s attention lingered on her, how he suddenly had less time to run her errands or linger around the apartment. There was something too convenient about Vanessa moving in next door.
And now this.
“You don’t know anything about her,” Tessa said, forcing a light tone.
“I know she’s been through something. And that she hides it behind work and silence and weirdly specific coffee orders,” Ethan said with a small laugh. “But yeah... I want to know more.”
Tessa’s eyes narrowed slightly, though she masked it with another grin.
“Well, maybe you should.”
Ethan looked at her. “Yeah?”
“Sure,” she said smoothly. “Why don’t I invite her over for dinner tomorrow? I’ll make that garlic chicken dish you pretend not to love. You can talk to her in a... less hallway-and-car-rides kind of setting.”
Ethan hesitated. “You’d be okay with that?”
“Of course,” she said sweetly, walking past him to grab her phone. “You’re my brother. I just want you to be happy.”
But as she scrolled through her messages, looking for Vanessa’s number, her expression changed—barely visible, but there.
Tessa wasn’t planning a warm welcome.
She was planning a test.
Because if Vanessa wanted to play games, Tessa would make sure she knew the rules.
Later that evening, Vanessa stood in her kitchen reheating soup she didn’t want. The walls were thin—she could hear muffled laughter from next door. Tessa’s voice, loud and flirtatious, rang through the plaster like nails dragging across a chalkboard.
Vanessa closed her eyes.
She could almost picture it—Tessa twirling her hair, tossing casual compliments like confetti at her phone screen. Probably talking to Mark. Her Mark. Or at least, the man who used to be.
The sound of a door opening broke her trance.
A few seconds later, there was a knock on her own door.
She froze.
Was it Tessa? No... the knock was too gentle.
She opened it slowly.
Ethan stood there, damp from the light drizzle outside, holding a plastic container.
“Hey. I, uh... I made some roasted chickpeas and pasta earlier. Thought maybe you’d like some?”
Vanessa blinked. “You cooked?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been YouTube certified for years.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. It felt strange. Freeing.
She stepped aside. “Come in.”
They sat on the floor with mismatched cushions, eating out of the container and talking about things that didn’t carry weight—favorite childhood snacks, worst haircut moments, irrational fears.
“I once thought a possum was a demon,” Ethan admitted. “I was eight.”
Vanessa laughed so hard she snorted.
It was a side of her she hadn’t known still existed.
After a pause, Ethan glanced at her. “You don’t talk about yourself much.”
“I prefer to listen.”
“Because you’re hiding something, or because you’re afraid someone might actually hear you?”
Her smile faded slowly. “Maybe both.”
He didn’t press. He just nodded, accepting her silence with grace.
Later that night, as Ethan was leaving, the hallway light flickered and Tessa emerged from her apartment, her eyes locking onto Vanessa’s open door.
She took one look at Ethan standing in the frame and narrowed her gaze.
“Oh, hey,” Tessa said, voice sugar-sweet but tight. “You guys hanging out now?”
Ethan smiled politely. “Yeah, just dinner. Valerie saved me from another night of ramen.”
Vanessa stepped forward, calm. “We were just talking.”
Tessa’s smile stretched unnaturally. “That’s... cute.”
Something changed in the air. A tension. The kind that only women could sense.
Vanessa knew Tessa was starting to feel the shift something was slipping out of her control. And Vanessa didn’t mind at all.
When Ethan was gone and the hallway quieted, Vanessa stood by her window, watching the city lights flicker in the drizzle.
She knew this was dangerous.
She hadn’t come here to feel.
But somehow, she was feeling everything.
And the most terrifying part? She didn’t want to stop.
Vanessa stood by the window, her phone buzzing in her hand as the streetlights flickered on below. She stared at the message, reading it twice.
Tessa: Hey neighbor! I’m hosting dinner tomorrow night—just something casual. Would love for you to come by around 7. Ethan will be there too! Hope you can make it.
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
An invite to dinner from the mistress of her husband.
She let out a bitter laugh under her breath. Ironic. Twisted. Almost poetic.
Vanessa turned and paced slowly across the room, heart thudding—not from fear, but anticipation. Was this a friendly gesture… or something else?
She couldn’t tell if Tessa was oblivious or cunning. Maybe both.
But what rattled her more than the invitation was Ethan’s name in the message.
He would be there.
And despite everything, the mission, the betrayal, the lies—her pulse quickened at the thought.
She had to remind herself: this wasn’t about Ethan. This was about Mark. About the truth. About control.
Vanessa set the phone down, walking into the bathroom, splashing water on her face. Her reflection stared back, unreadable and calm, but she could feel the tremor beneath the surface.
Would she be able to hold it together, seated just feet away from the woman her husband had chosen?
Would she be able to look Ethan in the eye and not betray that, against all logic, she was starting to care?
A war was coming to the table tomorrow night.
And she had just accepted the invitation.
- Writer
