DAN
1175 Words
Susan’s POV
Night.
The house feels colder than it should, even with the Texas heat pressing against the windows. Maybe it’s the silence—or the fact that Dan hasn’t said a single word to me since we got home.
He walked in ahead of me, loosened his tie, flicked on the kitchen light, and started scrolling through his phone like I wasn’t even there. He does that when he’s irritated, annoyed, or hiding something. I’ve learned not to guess which.
I drop my bag on the entry table and step into the kitchen, the floorboards creaking softly beneath me. Dan is leaning against the counter, scrolling… scrolling… scrolling. He doesn’t look up.
“How was your night?” I ask quietly.
His thumb freezes for a moment—just a fraction—then continues. “Fine.”
“That’s all?”
He exhales sharply through his nose, the universal sound of a man who doesn’t want to have this conversation. “It was a community mixer, Susan. What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “Something real.”
He finally meets my eyes. His expression isn’t angry, just… tired. Detached. That’s worse than angry. At least anger means there are feelings.
“We just moved here,” he says. “I’m trying to make a good impression, network, and build some momentum. You know that.”
I nod, though it feels like an excuse. Dan’s job has always come first—before me, before us, before everything. Pinecrest didn’t change that. It just gave him new places to disappear into.
There’s a glass on the counter. He picks it up, drinks the last swallow of whiskey, and winces. “We need ice,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.
I study him quietly. The dark circles under his eyes. The tension in his jaw. The way his fingers drum against the empty glass like he’s keeping time with thoughts he’ll never say out loud.
He clears his throat. “You seemed… friendly tonight.”
“Friendly?”
“With people.” He shrugs. “Especially Caramel. And that guy.”
My pulse stumbles.
“What guy?”
“You know who I’m talking about.”
Of course I do. Bronze.
“He was just being polite,” I say, too calmly.
Dan snorts. “Right.”
I fold my arms, not out of defensiveness but to keep myself anchored. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he says slowly, “that I know the type. And he was looking at you like he already knew what was under your dress.”
The floor seems to dip under me. “Dan, that’s not—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts.
His voice isn’t loud, but it’s sharp enough to cut. He turns away and places the glass in the sink a little too forcefully. It doesn’t shatter, but the sound makes me flinch.
I breathe slowly, deliberately. “He asked me a question. That’s all.”
Dan laughs, a short, humorless sound. “Susan, I saw the way he looked at you.”
“Maybe he was just curious,” I say, unsure why I’m defending Bronze at all.
Dan stiffens. He turns back to me, eyes cold. “Curious? About what?”
I open my mouth… and nothing comes out.
He lifts a brow. “Exactly.”
There’s a long, heavy silence. The kind that fills a marriage when both people are quietly pulling away from the places they used to lean in.
“He doesn’t matter, Dan,” I say finally.
“Good,” he replies. “Because our life here does.”
He steps closer, not in affection, but in a way that feels like he’s trying to remind the air who I belong to. His voice drops.
“I need you on my side.”
The phrasing hits me wrong. Not with me.
Not together.
But on my side—like a possession, not a partner.
I look up at him, and for a moment, I search for the man I married—the one who used to laugh, who used to see me, who used to want more than appearances. But all I see now is ambition… and shadows he doesn’t want me to see too closely.
“I am on your side,” I say quietly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t get to have a life.”
He stares at me for a long time, and something in his gaze tightens. Not jealousy. Not fear.
Something like suspicion.
“You haven’t been yourself lately,” he says.
“I’m adjusting.”
“Are you?” His eyes scan my face. “Or are you looking for a distraction?”
The accusation isn’t loud, but it lands like thunder.
I shake my head slowly. “Why would you think that?”
He opens his mouth—but then stops. His jaw clenches. He turns away, grabbing the faucet handle, running cold water over his hands like he has to cleanse something off him.
“I just need you focused,” he murmurs.
“Focused on what?” I ask, though part of me doesn’t want the answer.
On us?
In his career?
On pretending we’re perfect?
On ignoring the growing distance between us?
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he dries his hands and walks toward the bedroom. Each step sounds final.
At the doorway, he pauses. “I don’t like that man, Susan.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“I don’t need to,” he says. “Men like that? They’re dangerous.”
The words stick to the walls even after he disappears into the dark hallway.
Dangerous.
The thought should worry me.
But it doesn’t—not in the way Dan means.
I stand alone in the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence he left behind. I press my hands against the cool counter, breathing slowly.
It’s strange…
When Dan looks at me, I feel guilty.
When Bronze looked at me… I felt seen.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
I turn off the light and walk toward the bedroom, though my feet feel heavy. Before I enter, I glance out the living room window.
The street is empty. Quiet.
But something catches my eye.
A shadow at the edge of our property—near the trees.
Still. Watching.
A shape that shouldn’t be there.
I blink, and it’s gone.
Maybe it was nothing.
Or maybe Pinecrest is already blurring the line between imagination and warning.
Either way, I close the curtain, lock the window, and climb into a bed where Dan’s back is turned, his breathing already slow and steady.
I lie on my side, staring into the dark, feeling like the house is holding its breath.
And for the first time since we moved here, I wonder:
What exactly did we enter when we came to Pinecrest…
And who is watching us from the shadows?
- Writer
