CHAPTERTWO
928 Words
NAOMI’S POV
I felt like my breathing was constricted.
The words kept echoing in my head—Delia’s laugh, James’s sigh, the way she rested her head on his shoulder as if he had always been hers.
My chest felt bruised, like someone had punched a hole right through it and left it gaping open.
I backed away from the doorway, my tears blurring my vision. My legs moved on their own, carrying me down the hallway, out of the house, and straight to my car.
I didn’t even remember grabbing my keys. I just needed to be far away from them. From that bed. From the sight of my stepsister’s pregnant belly moving on top of my husband.
I started the engine and drove.
I didn’t know where I was going. But it had to be anywhere but there. My hands shook on the steering wheel and my tears kept falling, each one causing the road to look even more blurry.
But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.
After a couple of streets, I couldn’t see clearly anymore. I pulled over under a large oak tree and killed the engine.
The sudden silence swallowed my mind.
Then I started sobbing.
Each one wrecked through my body completely, they were ugly, loud and uncontrollable. I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel and letting them tear out of me.
Everything I had buried—every doubt I’d ignored, every excuse I’d made for James, every night I’d lain awake wondering why I wasn’t enough, it all poured out in those tears.
I didn’t know how long I sat there crying. But time didn’t matter anymore.
When the tears finally slowed down, I lifted my head and stared at my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes were red and swollen. And my mascara had melted down my cheeks. I looked like a complaint stranger.
My phone sat in the cup holder.
I picked it up and stared at the screen. My hands weren’t shaking anymore, they had stamina.
I thought about humiliating James and Delia.
I couldn’t file a police report for adultery. No. No one did that, but I didn’t want them sleeping in my house tonight. How could I make it believable?
Then an idea crept into my mind.
I dialed 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
My voice came out unwavering and cold. “There are two intruders in my house. They broke in.”
“Ma’am, are you in danger? Are the intruders still on the premises? Do you know who they are?”
“Yes,” I said. “They’re still inside. My bedroom. They are… s*x workers. I think, maybe they're trying to steal something. I don’t know how they got in.”
“What is your address?”
I gave it.
“Units are on the way. Are you currently at the residence?”
“No. I got out. But I’m nearby.”
“Stay where you are, ma’am. Do not approach the house. Officers will be there shortly.”
I hung up.
I didn’t move. I just sat there, staring out the windshield.
Ten minutes later, I heard the sirens.
I put the car in drive and slowly made my way back. I parked across the street, far enough to see but not be seen. Two patrol cars were already there. Red and blue lights flashed against the white siding of the house.
I watched as the front door opened and teo officers stepped out.
And behind them was James.
He was handcuffed. His shirt was half-buttoned, his hair disheveled. He looked dazed, like he still couldn’t understand what was happening. An officer guided him toward one of the patrol cars, with his hand on his head as he was pushed into the backseat.
Then Delia came out.
She was wrapped in a sheet from my bed, her face was full of fury. She was shouting something at the officers, her mouth moving fast and angry.
Another officer held her arm and led her to the second patrol car. She fought it at first, jerking away, but the officer was firm.
I watched my stepsister who was pregnant with my husband’s child get shoved into the back of a police car.
Delia’s eyes scanned the street as the door closed. For a brief second, they landed on my car.
But I didn’t look away.
Her expression became uglier than before, it was full of hate. Then the door slammed shut.
Both cars pulled away from the curb and disappeared down the street.
The street went quiet again. While I sat there in the silence.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to go. I couldn’t go back inside that house. Not now. Maybe not ever.
My phone rang a few minutes later, drawing me out of my thoughts.
I flinched. The screen lit up with a name: Dad.
I stared at it for a long moment. My thumb hovered over the answer button. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
I answered anyway.
“Dad—”
“Get here. Now.” His voice was harsh. It sounded nothing like the gentle tone he usually used with me.
“Dad, I—”
“You get to this house right now, you bastard!” he roared into the phone. “How dare you do this to your own sister?!”
“My sister…” Before I could finish, the line went dead.
I stared at the phone in my hand and my heart started racing rapidly.
- Writer
