Sparkle and Crime

Red Wine and Reckoning

Chapter 2

The house was quiet when Madeline got home.

Too quiet.

Like it knew something had ended.

She kicked off her heels in the foyer and padded to the kitchen, grabbing a wine glass and the good bottle of red—the one she'd been saving for their anniversary.

She laughed. What anniversary?

Curled up on the velvet chaise in the den, she sipped slowly, the stem of the glass cool between her fingers as she reached for her notepad.

Pros of Richard:

– Bought her flowers on her birthday (once)

– Got along with her father (for appearances)

– Didn't cheat for the first two years

– Looked good in suits

– Paid the bills (with her money)

She chewed the edge of her pen, swirling her wine.

Cons of Richard:

– Lied like it was his native language

– Gave her HPV (probably)

– Slept with Jenna. Slept with Jenna again

– Called her "hysterical" when she cried

– Once told her she should "be grateful" he hadn't left

– Took the dog to his mistress's house without asking

– Used her savings to buy a Rolex and then lost it in Vegas

– Ruined her favorite sweater and never replaced it

– Called her mother "overbearing" at her funeral

– Gaslit her into silence. More times than she could count

She stared at the list, eyes heavy-lidded with wine and finality.

Yeah. That was enough.

Her hand reached for the folded paper Maggie had slipped her earlier. That number. That name. That possibility.

She held it like it might grow teeth.

Just as the thought started to settle, the front door creaked open—loud, fumbling.

Then came the thud of shoes kicked off, a low grunt, the unmistakable sound of Richard, drunk and staggering his way into the kitchen like a sitcom character with no punchline.

"Baaaaaby," he slurred, voice dragging like wet laundry on pavement. "You up?"

She didn't answer.

"Come on, don't be like that. I missed you."

He stumbled down the hallway, reeking of whiskey and regret, then appeared in the doorway like a ghost she wasn't afraid of anymore.

"Go to bed, Richard," she said evenly.

But he walked toward her anyway, fingers sloppy and grabby as he leaned down and tried to kiss her neck.

"Don't touch me."

"Come on, Mads. Don't be like this. I've just had a long night—"

"So have I," she said, shoving him off.

He stumbled. Swore. Then, with all the elegance of a falling trash can, collapsed onto the bed face-first.

She stood there, heart beating like thunder, staring at the lump of man who used to be her world. He let out a low snore, muffled by the duvet.

Of course.

She rolled her eyes, grabbed her pillow, and made her way to the guest room downstairs.

The sheets smelled like lavender and quiet.

She stared at the ceiling. One hand on her stomach. One on her phone.

And then she did what she'd been thinking about all night.

She texted Maggie.

"You up?"

The response came almost instantly.

"Always. You ready?"

Madeline stared at the folded paper on the nightstand. The number that could change everything.

"Come over."

"Now?"

"No time like the present."

"Be there in five!"

Madeline got up and lit the fireplace.

Poured two glasses of wine.

The knock came soft, three short taps.

Madeline opened the door to find Maggie standing there with a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips, a six-pack of sparkling water, and a grin that said ride or die.

"You brought snacks?" Madeline asked, amused.

Maggie held up the bag like a trophy. "I come bearing emotional support in crunchy form. Also, I ordered from Dragon House on the way. Double sesame chicken, extra dumplings."

Madeline stepped aside. "Marry me."

"Tempting. But I'm saving myself for an emotionally stable, fine-ass man with a motorcycle and a mortgage."

They settled in the living room—two wine glasses, a sea of takeout containers, the fire flickering like gossip in the hearth.

"So," Maggie said, popping open a dumpling with her chopsticks, "how long's it been since you last had s*x that didn't leave you emotionally bankrupt?"

Madeline burst out laughing, red wine sloshing dangerously close to her pajamas. "Jesus, Mags."

"What?" Maggie shrugged. "I'm just saying, you deserve orgasms and honesty. Preferably at the same time and definitely multiple orgasms."

Madeline shook her head, smiling into her glass. "I don't even know what I want anymore. Every guy I've ever loved has either disappointed me, cheated, or used me. Or all three."

"That's because you've been dating suits with god complexes," Maggie said. "You need someone who sees you. Like really sees you. Someone who brings you soup when you're sick and actually listens to your rants about skincare serums."

"You mean like you?"

"I mean, again—tempting. But I snore."

Madeline leaned back into the couch cushions, letting the fire's glow warm her face. "I think I'm just... terrified I'll always be alone. That this was it. The big love. And I wasted it on a knockoff Gordon Gekko with a erectile dysfunction and commitment issues."

Maggie snorted," Oh you poor thing, should just flush his Viagra pills ".

"I really should, I might while he's passed out tonight."

Maggie reached across the couch and grabbed her hand. "Babe. If men had eyes, ears, and even a fraction of a clue, they'd be lining up at your door with flowers and laminated spreadsheets on why they're worthy."

Madeline snorted. "Spreadsheets?"

"Color-coded, obviously. Column A: emotional availability. Column B: ability to make you laugh until you snort. Column C: does not follow i********: models named 'Luna with two U's.'"

They laughed again, real and loud and healing.

Later, when the food was gone and the wine had turned their bones soft, they curled up in the big guest bed with Madeline's favorite blanket and faces scrubbed clean.

The fire was low now, a gentle glow humming in the distance.

Madeline stared at the ceiling for a moment before whispering, "I want to talk to your friend."

Maggie blinked, head resting on her folded arm. "Yeah?"

"But just a consultation. I'm not ready to... do agree to do anything. Not yet. I just need to know it's real. That I'm not going to get into any legal trouble."

Maggie nodded slowly. "You're allowed to take your time, Maddie. This isn't about rushing. It's about you finally getting to be happy."

There was something soothing in that. In being reminded that not every door needed to be kicked down tonight.

Madeline let out a long breath. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not judging me."

"b***h, Please. I would've buried his body years ago if you'd let me."

Madeline laughed softly, rolling onto her side. "You're insane."

"Only for you, sweetheart."

They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only happens between women who've loved and lost and still find the courage to laugh anyway.

Outside, the city moved like a stranger in the dark.

But inside?

Inside, the reckoning had begun.

And Madeline was no longer afraid.

———————

The sun crawled through the living room blinds like an uninvited guest, spilling soft golden light across the mess of wine glasses, chopsticks, and fortune cookie crumbs.

Madeline lay cocooned in blankets on the couch, one arm flopped over her eyes, her chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of someone who, for once, had found peace in the wreckage.

Maggie was curled up in the armchair beside her, a decorative pillow hugged to her chest, her mouth slightly open, a single dumpling container resting precariously on the ottoman near her feet.

The silence was broken by a loud, unmistakable thud.

"s**t!" came the groggy hiss, followed by a shuffle of limbs and the crash of Maggie's shoes clattering across the floor.

Maggie jolted upright, bleary-eyed and instantly scowling.

Richard stood in the middle of the living room, one sock on, hair tousled like a disgraced boy band member, rubbing his shin like it had personally betrayed him.

"Well," Maggie said, voice low and venom-laced. "Look what the cat threw up and forgot to bury."

Richard grimaced. "Could you not start with your usual bullshit this early?"

"Could you not sneak around like a raccoon in your ex-wife's house?"

"She's not my ex-wife."

"Yet."

He glanced at Madeline, still sleeping, peaceful and untouched by the noise. His voice dropped to a whisper. "We're working through things. You don't have to make it worse."

"Oh, sweetheart," Maggie said, rising slowly from the chair like a lioness stretching. "You made it worse when you bought your side piece a matching bracelet because Madeline found out that you gave the little tart yours that watch she bought you. So where will you purchase her next gift?Tiffany's or Cartier?"

Richard's jaw flexed. "You don't know anything about mine and Madeline's relationship."

"I know enough to say if she ever really needed a shovel, I wouldn't ask why. I'd just start digging."

He took a step closer, lowering his voice further. "You've always hated me."

"No," she said, arms crossed. "I hate cancer and I despise racism. You? You're more like a parasite. Annoying, ugly, and somehow always clinging to what doesn't belong to you."

He leaned in, eyes narrowing. "She used to love me."

"Yeah, she used to believe in Santa Claus, too."

For a moment, the tension hung thick between them, like smoke in a closed room. Madeline shifted slightly in her sleep but didn't wake.

Richard exhaled, nostrils flaring, then turned and stormed off toward the kitchen, muttering something about needing coffee.

Maggie watched him go, lips curled in distaste. "I hope it's decaf," she mumbled under her breath, before gently pulling the blanket back up over Madeline's shoulder.

The clock read 10:35 AM when Madeline finally stirred, eyelids fluttering open as the light from the window danced across her face. Her head ached in that warm, fuzzy way that said last night had been worth it.

Across the room, Maggie sat in the armchair, legs tucked under her, engrossed in a thriller novel on her phone. She didn't look up, just smiled to herself and said, "Good morning, sunshine. How's the head?"

Madeline groaned into her throw pillow. "Fuzzy. Like someone rubbed tequila on a kitten and let it nap on my brain."

Maggie chuckled, eyes still on her screen. "I'll take that as a ten out of ten evening, then."

Madeline slowly sat up, blinking at the array of empty cartons and lipstick-stained glasses. "We ordered so much food."

"You needed it," Maggie said, finally looking over. "Emotional exorcisms burn calories."

Madeline stretched, then glanced toward the kitchen. She could hear faint clattering—drawers opening, a mug being set a little too hard on the counter.

She didn't mention it.

Maggie didn't either.

Instead, Maggie rose and pocketed her phone. "Now. What does Her Royal Hot Mess want for breakfast? I'm taking requests. Waffles? Bacon? An omelet with enough cheese to send us both into cardiac arrest?"

Madeline laughed, rubbing her eyes. "Surprise me."

"You got it." Maggie winked and padded off toward the kitchen.

As she passed the entryway, she caught Richard glaring at the fridge like it owed him money. She didn't speak to him. Just opened a cabinet with more force than necessary and began pulling out pans.

The silence between them was louder than words, but when Madeline walked in a few minutes later, barefoot and sleepy, Maggie had her smile back on.

"Hope you're hungry," she said brightly. "Because breakfast is about to slap."

Madeline slid onto a stool at the island, watching her friend move through the kitchen like she owned it. She felt a smile tug at her lips. Maybe not everything was falling apart.

Maggie was flipping eggs in a pan, the sound of sizzling filling the kitchen, when Richard took a seat beside Madeline, hair still messy from sleep, his tie hanging loosely from the collar of his shirt.

Richard cleared his throat and leaned against the counter, watching Maggie flip another pancake. "You making enough for me, too, or...?"

Maggie didn't look up. She slid the spatula under the pancake with a practiced flick of the wrist, her voice cool and clipped. "You're capable of making your own toast, aren't you?"

Richard blinked, taken aback. "Well, sure, but—"

"Or I could just poison your pancakes." Maggie's gaze flicked to him, eyes narrowing with a glint of mischief. "Your choice."

Richard's throat worked as if he was about to say something—something sharp, no doubt—but Madeline's lazy voice cut through the tension before he could.

"Can you two not?" Madeline mumbled, lifting her head from her arms as she finally straightened up," My head is pounding with a killer headache." She gave Richard a glance, half-dazed but still very much aware of the dynamic in the room.

Maggie flashed a smile at Madeline. "I'll take that as a no on the poison."

Richard chuckled weakly, scratching the back of his neck. He couldn't tell if Maggie was joking or not. She was always so damn hard to read. "Right. Well, I'll just grab another cup of coffee then."

Maggie didn't respond. She simply moved to get the coffee pot, pouring a generous amount into a mug with the ease of someone who knew exactly what kind of brew would keep her going all day. She handed it over to Richard without a word. His eyes lingered on the cover cup before he looked at Madeline again.

He took a slow step toward her, his lips pursed in a half-smile. "You good, baby?"

Madeline turned her head just as he leaned in, his breath still heavy with whiskey from last night. She was already halfway through pulling away, her cheek just out of reach. Richard hesitated, eyes lingering for a beat longer than necessary. He didn't want to look embarrassed, so he played it off with a chuckle.

"Right, right, I'll just... go get ready for work then."

Maggie's eyes were focused on the stove, but her lips twitched upward. "Yeah, maybe you should, so you don't make that tart of yours wonder where you are."

Richard, caught between irritation and confusion, gave one last, awkward glance at Madeline. He turned on his heel and left the room, muttering something under his breath.

Madeline exhaled deeply as the door to the hallway clicked shut. She sighed, shoulders relaxing as if the tension had finally left the room.

Maggie gave her a knowing look. "You're not gonna miss that, are you?"

Madeline shrugged, then smiled faintly. "Not even a little."

Maggie set a plate of golden pancakes in front of her, adding a side of crispy bacon. "Good. Now eat up."