That night I ate dinner alone by the window, watching the city lights blink over the horizon, and for the first time in years, the silence did not feel like an absence.
It felt like peace.
I thought it was all over.
I made a mistake.
The next morning, shortly after dawn, someone began banging on my apartment door hard enough to make the walls shake.
Then came Eleanor’s voice, sharp and furious.
“Open this door, Marissa, because you can’t humiliate me and hide like this.”
I stood still for a moment, not because I was afraid, but because I couldn’t quite believe that this was happening.
When I finally walked to the door and looked through the peephole, I saw Eleanor standing there in a tailored coat with her hair perfectly styled, her expression burning with indignation, while Anthony stood beside her, tense and visibly uncomfortable.
The neighbors were already starting to peek out, attracted by the commotion, with barely concealed curiosity.
