Madelyn
I heard the front door open, the soft click of it shutting, and for a second I thought maybe I dreamed it because I’d drifted in and out of sleep so many times on that couch that the sounds in the house had started blending together. The lights were dim and the living room felt too big as usual, too quiet as the staff had gone to their quarters, and I was wrapped up in that blanket the maids always folded a little too neatly. I stayed still because some stubborn part of me wanted to pretend I was asleep for real, like I wasn’t waiting for him like someone who had no self-respect. But the truth was I’d been waiting since I got back from work and the sky got dark and the house got empty.
I heard his footsteps. Slow. Heavy. The way he walked when he was tired and trying not to show
