Chapter 22
982 Words
Sara Michaels
I made it to the bedroom without falling apart in front of them. The stairs felt longer tonight, each step heavier, like my body was carrying more than just my weight. Emily’s voice followed me up—“Hurry up, Sara, Tommy and I are starving!”—high and sweet and cruel, the pout in her words making my stomach turn.
I didn’t answer. Didn’t look back. Just kept moving until I reached the door and slipped inside.
I closed it softly. Locked it. Leaned against it with my forehead pressed to the wood, breathing in short, shaky bursts. The room was dark. I didn’t turn on the light.
Didn’t want to see my reflection in the mirror, didn’t want to see the red mark blooming on my cheek or the blood still dried at the corner of my lip.
I walked to the bed on legs that felt like they might give out any second. Sat on the edge. Then slowly, carefully, I lay down on my side—curled up small, knees to my chest, arms wrapped around myself like that could hold everything in.
The tears came then. Quiet at first. Hot. Silent. They slipped down my face and soaked into the pillow. I didn’t sob. Didn’t make noise. Just let them fall while my whole body shook with the effort of holding the rest inside.
I cried for Mom.
For the way she looked so small in that hospital bed, for the machines breathing for her, for the way she still smiled at me like I was her whole world even when I felt like I was falling apart.
I cried for me.
For the girl who used to believe in promises. Who used to wait up for Tom with coffee and hope. Who thought love was enough to fix anything. Who thought if I just tried harder, loved harder, cooked better, smiled prettier… he’d stay.
I cried for the slap.
For the word “w***e” still ringing in my ears.
For the way my cheek throbbed and my lip tasted like copper.
For the way I’d knelt. Again. For the way I’d begged. Again and again and again.
For the way I still had to go downstairs soon and cook for them. For him. For her.
The phone rang on the nightstand. I flinched.
It kept ringing. I stared at it like it might bite me.
Then I saw the name on the screen.
"Kingsley."
My heart jumped—different this time. Not fear. Something softer. Something scared in a new way.
I reached for it slowly. Wiped my face with my sleeve. Took a breath. Answered and “Hello?”
“Sara.” His voice came through warm and steady, like always. “Hey. Sorry to call so late.”
I swallowed. Tried to make my voice sound normal. “It’s… it’s okay. What’s up?”
“You left your earring in class today. The little silver one. I found it under your chair after you left.”
I touched my ear. He was right. One was missing.
“Oh,” I whispered. A tiny, real smile tugged at my lips despite everything. “Thank you. I didn’t even notice.”
“I’ll keep it safe for you,” he said. “You can pick it up soon. Whenever you’re ready. And… be ready for next class. We’re doing prototypes. You’re going to love it.”
I closed my eyes. Let his voice wash over me for a second. Let it push back the dark just a little.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I will. Thank you, Kingsley.”
A paused gently.
“You okay?” he asked. Quiet and careful.
I bit my lip. Tasted blood again.
“I’m… getting there,” I lied.
He didn’t push.
“Okay,” he said. “Tomorrow then. Or whenever. I’m here.”
I nodded even though he couldn’t see.
“Goodnight, Sara.” He said, his voice was velvet and so f*****g sweet. Making me forget Tom's torment.
“Goodnight.” I ended the call.
Held the phone to my chest.
A small smile stayed on my lips.
But it faded fast. Downstairs I heard footsteps. Emily’s laugh. Tom’s voice—low, answering her.
Then music was soft and slow.
The kind they played when they… I curled tighter into myself. Tears came again. Quieter now. Tired.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe loud.
Just lay there listening to the house fill with sounds that weren’t mine anymore.
Meanwhile downstairs Tom stood in the bedroom doorway watching Emily slip into something silk and short. She smiled at him over her shoulder.
He didn’t smile back.
He walked to the nightstand. Pulled open the drawer. Took out a small recorder—the one he used for meetings sometimes. Pressed play.
Soft moans filled the room. Fake. Edited. Sara’s voice—or close enough. Moaning for someone else.
He set it on the dresser. Turned the volume up just enough.
Emily laughed. “You’re evil.” He didn’t answer and Just watched her.
And told himself this was justice. That she deserved it.
That he didn’t care anymore. But deep down—buried under layers of anger and whiskey—something ached.
Something that sounded like Sara’s voice. Something that whispered he might be wrong.
But he pushed it down. Turned off the light.
And let the fake moans play in the dark.
Emily on the other hand had lied earlier about an emergency call. She’d slipped out while Tom was at the office. Met her side guy in a hotel room two towns over.
Let him take her hard and fast against the wall while she thought about the money she’d get from Tom’s card later.
She came back smelling like s*x and perfume.
Tom didn’t notice Or maybe he did....He didn’t care.
- Writer
