LOGIN
The sunlight filtering through the curtains feels like an accusation. I blink awake, my body heavy with familiar dread as I turn to look at Alex's sleeping form beside me. His broad back is turned away, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. Even in sleep, he seems distant.
I slip out of bed, careful not to disturb him. The hardwood floor is cool beneath my feet as I pad to the bathroom, shutting the door with a soft click.
My reflection greets me in the mirror - a woman I barely recognize anymore. Shadows under my eyes, lines etched at the corners. When did I start looking so... tired?
"Another day," I murmur, reaching for my toothbrush. The minty foam fills my mouth as I scrub mechanically, my mind already drifting to work. To Jack's easy smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs.
Stop it, Samantha. I rinse and spit, splashing cold water on my face. But the thought lingers, a spark of warmth in the chill of the morning.
As I pat my skin dry, I hear Alex stirring in the bedroom. A flicker of panic. I'm not ready to face him yet, to slip back into the role of dutiful wife.
Just a few more minutes, I think, leaning close to the mirror to apply concealer under my eyes. A feeble attempt to hide the truth.
"Sam? You almost done in there?" Alex's voice, muffled through the door.
I take a steadying breath. "Be right out," I call back, my tone carefully neutral.
One last glance in the mirror. I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin. Time to face another day in a life that no longer feels like my own.
I slip into the bedroom, avoiding Alex's gaze as I head for the closet. The silk of my blouse whispers against my skin as I button it, each movement a reminder of the woman I used to be. Confident. Passionate. Alive.
"You're up early," Alex mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep.
I shrug, pulling on a pair of slacks. "Busy day at the store."
As I fasten my watch – a gift from Alex, years ago – memories flood unbidden. Our wedding day. The way he looked at me, like I was his whole world. The day we brought Victoria home, my heart swelling with love for this child who wasn't mine by blood, but would be by choice.
"Sam?" Alex's voice cuts through my reverie. "Did you hear me? I asked if you could pick up my dry cleaning on your way home."
I nod, the familiar weight of resentment settling in my chest. "Sure, no problem."
Fully dressed, I hurry to the kitchen, desperate for caffeine and nicotine. The fridge hums as I yank it open, grabbing an energy drink. The cold can bites into my palm.
"Going to have a smoke?" Alex calls from the bedroom.
"Yeah," I reply, already heading for the patio door. "I'll be quick."
The morning air is crisp against my face as I step outside. I light up, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs. It's a poor substitute for the passion I crave, but it's something.
I take another drag, my thoughts drifting to Jack. To the way he sees me – not as Alex's wife or Victoria's stepmom, but as Samantha. Just Samantha.
"What happened to us?" I whisper to the empty patio, watching the smoke curl into the air. But I already know the answer. Life happened. Responsibility. The slow, inexorable fading of romance into routine.
I crush out the cigarette, feeling the familiar mix of guilt and longing. It's time to go to work. Time to feel alive again, if only for a few hours.
I step back into the kitchen, the lingering scent of smoke clinging to my clothes. Alex is there, his imposing figure leaning against the counter. Our eyes meet briefly, a flicker of recognition passing between us before we both look away.
"Morning," he says, his tone flat and businesslike.
"Morning," I echo, reaching for my can. “What time's your meeting today?"
Alex checks his watch, a gesture so familiar it almost hurts. "Nine-thirty. I should be home by six, unless something comes up."
I nod, sipping my drink. "Right. I'll be working late tonight. Inventory."
"Again?" There's a hint of accusation in his voice, but I choose to ignore it.
"Yeah, end of the quarter stuff. Can't be helped."
The silence stretches between us, filled with unspoken words and fading memories. I remember a time when our mornings were filled with laughter and stolen kisses. Now, we're reduced to discussing schedules like disinterested roommates.
Victoria's footsteps on the stairs break the tension. She bounces into the kitchen, all sunshine and energy that I once possessed.
"Morning, Dad!" she chirps.
His face softens, a smile breaking through his stoic facade. "Hey, sweetheart. Sleep well?"
I watch their easy interaction, a familiar ache blooming in my chest. They move around each other with practiced grace, Alex pouring cereal while Victoria chatters about her upcoming school project.
"What do you think, Mom?" Victoria's voice cuts through my thoughts. "About the science fair?"
I blink, realizing I've missed part of the conversation. "Oh, um, sounds great. I'm sure you'll do wonderfully."
Victoria's smile falters slightly, and I know I've said the wrong thing. Again. I'm an intruder here, in this home I've helped build for over a decade.
"Your mom's right," Alex says, his hand resting protectively on Victoria's shoulder. "You always do great at these things."
I take a sip another of monster, hiding my face behind the mug. The bitterness on my tongue matches the feeling in my heart.
As the caffeine slowly works its magic, my mind drifts to the hardware store. The image of neat rows of tools and the scent of fresh lumber brings a sense of calm I can't find here.
"I should head out soon," I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.
Alex grunts in acknowledgment, barely looking up from his phone. "Don't forget we need lightbulbs. The kitchen fixture's been flickering."
I nod, though he doesn't see it. "Right. I'll pick some up."
My thoughts wander to Jack, my boss. His easy smile and warm eyes flash in my mind, a stark contrast to the cold atmosphere of this kitchen.
"You've been working a lot of extra shifts lately," Alex comments, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp.
I shrug, avoiding his gaze. "We've been busy. Jack needs the help."
"Jack," Alex repeats, and I can hear the hint of suspicion in his voice.
"My boss," I clarify, though we both know he's aware. "He's been great about accommodating my schedule."
"I should go," I say, already reaching for my keys. "Have a good day, both of you."
As I turn to leave, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window. The woman staring back at me looks tired, worn. But there's a glimmer in her eyes – a spark of anticipation for what lies beyond these walls.
I pause at the door, my hand on the knob, and turn back to Victoria. Her blonde hair catches the morning light, reminding me of endless summer days when she was younger, when things were simpler.
"Victoria," I say, my voice softening, "I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner together this weekend? Just the two of us?"
She looks up from her phone, her blue eyes meeting mine. There's a flicker of something – interest, perhaps? – before it's quickly masked by polite indifference.
"Oh, um, thanks," she replies, her tone carefully neutral. "But I've got plans with my friends. We're going to check out that new rock climbing place."
I nod, swallowing the disappointment that rises in my throat. "Of course. Maybe another time."
Victoria offers a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Sure, maybe."
The silence that follows is heavy, laden with unspoken words and missed connections. I grab my coat from the hook, shrugging it on as I reach for my bag.
"Have a good day at school," I say, one last attempt at bridging the chasm between us.
"Thanks," Victoria responds, already turning back to her phone.
I take a deep breath, my hand on the doorknob. The cool metal grounds me, a stark contrast to the suffocating warmth of the house. As I turn it, I feel the weight on my chest begin to lift.
'Just a few steps,' I think to myself, 'and I'll be free.'
The thought brings a mixture of relief and guilt. I pause, my forehead resting against the door for a moment. The wood is cool against my skin, and I inhale deeply, steeling myself for the day ahead.
As I open the door, the morning air rushes in, crisp and invigorating. It carries with it the promise of possibility, of a world beyond these walls where I can breathe, where I can be more than just Alex's wife or Victoria's mother.
I step outside, letting the door close behind me with a soft click. The sound is like a starting gun, signaling the beginning of my day, my temporary escape.
The sidewalk stretches before me, a ribbon of concrete leading away from the house. Each step I take feels lighter, the crisp air filling my lungs and clearing my head. The familiar route to the hardware store becomes a canvas for my wandering thoughts.
"I shouldn't feel this relieved to leave," I mutter to myself, shoving my hands deep into my coat pockets. "What kind of wife am I?"
A jogger passes by, offering a friendly nod. I return it automatically, my mind still churning. The rhythmic sound of my footsteps on the pavement provides a soothing backdrop to my internal struggle.
As I round the corner, the hardware store comes into view. My heart quickens, and I can't help but smile. The guilt that's been gnawing at me fades, replaced by a flutter of excitement.
"Jack," I whisper, his name a forbidden pleasure on my lips.
I pause, taking a moment to smooth my hair and straighten my coat. "It's just work," I remind myself sternly. "Nothing more."
But even as I say it, I know it's a lie. The prospect of seeing Jack, of basking in his warm smile and easy charm, makes the day ahead feel full of promise. It's more than just an escape from my stifling home life; it's a glimpse of what could be.
I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. "Focus, Samantha," I mutter. "You're here to work, not daydream."
With one last glance at my reflection in a nearby window, I push open the door to the store, stepping into the familiar warmth and the promise of Jack's presence.
The familiar jingle of the bell above the door welcomes me as I step inside. The scent of fresh-cut wood and metal polish fills my nostrils, a comforting aroma that instantly lifts my spirits.
"Morning, Samantha!" calls out Mike from behind the counter, his friendly grin a stark contrast to the tense breakfast I'd left behind.
I feel my face brighten as I respond, "Hey Mike! Beautiful day, isn't it?"
As I make my way to the employee area, I exchange nods and smiles with my coworkers. It's amazing how different I feel here, how much lighter. I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and barely recognize the woman smiling back at me.
"There's our ray of sunshine," Jack's voice carries from the stockroom. My heart skips a beat as he emerges, his blue eyes twinkling. "Ready to tackle that new shipment of power tools?"
I laugh, surprising myself with how genuine it sounds. "Always ready for a challenge, boss."
As we work side by side, unpacking boxes and arranging displays, I find myself relaxing into the familiar routine. A customer approaches, looking confused, and I step in to help.
"Can I help you find something?" I ask, my voice warm and professional.
While guiding the customer through the aisles, my mind wanders briefly to Alex and Victoria. A pang of guilt hits me, but I push it aside. 'This is my time,' I remind myself. 'I deserve to feel valued.'
Returning to Jack, I catch him watching me with an expression that makes my cheeks flush. "You're a natural with the customers, Sam," he says softly.
I duck my head, both pleased and flustered. "Just doing my job," I murmur, but inside, I'm glowing. This is where I belong, where I matter. And if my eyes linger on Jack a moment too long, well, who could blame me?
As the day winds down, I find myself lingering at the counter, reluctant to leave. The hardware store hums with a comforting energy, the scent of fresh-cut wood filling my lungs. It's so different from the stifling atmosphere at home. I can breathe here while I drown there.
"Closing time, Samantha," Jack says, his voice gentle. "You've outdone yourself today."
I look up, meeting his gaze. "Thanks, Jack. I just... I love it here, you know?"
He nods, understanding in his eyes. "It shows. You bring life to this place."
My heart swells at his words, and I can't help but smile. "I feel alive here," I admit, surprised by my own candor.
As I gather my things, I realize I'm not dreading the return home as much as usual. The day has filled me with a quiet strength, a reminder of my own worth.
"See you tomorrow, Sam," Jack calls as I head for the door.
I turn back, catching his eye. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
Stepping out into the cool evening air, I take a deep breath. The city lights flicker to life around me, and for once, I feel a part of its vibrant energy. Whatever waits for me at home, I know I can face it. This job, this sanctuary, has given me more than just a paycheck. It's given me a piece of myself back.
We sit at the dining table, watching the candle flicker like the last ember of a dying fire. Jack shifts, clears the finalized divorce papers, and sets them aside with the care of a surgeon. The edges of the documents are sharp, like the words and arguments that led us here, but his hands are steady. I pass him the salt, and our fingers brush, a soft collision that neither of us acknowledges. "We're free now," he says, his voice steady and clear. The words should be a relief, a declaration of independence, but they cling to the air like smoke. "Finally, a fresh start," I reply, echoing his calm. My fingers tap on the plate, a nervous metronome keeping time with my thoughts. Jack nods, a solemn agreement, and I see his eyes flicker to the papers before settling back on his food. We eat in quiet rhythm, words and glances punctuating the meal like stops and starts on a broken line. The room is a mix of shadows and warmth, the dim light casting our reflections against the walls. I look a
Moving boxes isn't the hardest thing I've ever done, though I suppose it should be. At my age, I shouldn't be leaving anyone or anything behind. I hear my own quick steps shuffling through the modest new living room as Jack and I carry in the last of the taped-up containers. His grin is large and bright in the late afternoon light, which streams in through wide windows and bounces off the freshly painted walls. "What's this?" he asks, holding up a wrench from my old toolbox. "You planning to do any work around here?" He laughs like he already knows the answer. "Careful," I warn, adjusting the weight of the box in my arms. "Those things are sharp. You might hurt yourself." "Are you going to fix me up if I do?" Jack sets his load down with a playful wink and comes over to take mine. "Only if I have to," I reply, though my voice wavers between sarcasm and sincerity. His easy charm is something I haven't felt in years, and the way we move together through this house is surprisingly na
I sit across from Angela in the crowded coffee shop, watching as she squeezes her mug and brings it to her lips. Around us, the sun fills the room with too much light, pressing in through the floor-to-ceiling windows until I feel like I’m suffocating. I keep tapping my fingers on the edge of the table, waiting for the right words to come. Angela sets her mug down, leaving a crimson lipstick stain against the white ceramic, and I take a deep breath. "I've done everything for Victoria," I say, finally. "Every sacrifice, every late night, every tear." I keep my eyes on Angela, trying to ignore the loud clatter of dishes and the voices that mingle around us. She reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. “I just don’t understand. It has always been me in her corner. I’m the only one who ever fought for that child. I took a crash course in family court, and had to push Alex to do everything he did. I walked him through it all step by step. He would have never been a ‘father’ if i
I watch Jack standing by the window, golden evening light painting his profile as he swirls the wine in his glass. The liquid catches the light, throwing ruby shadows across his face. Something in the way he holds himself—shoulders tense despite his casual stance—tells me he has news. I curl my fingers around the silver spoon I've been absently holding, feeling its cool weight anchor me to this moment, this worn sofa that has witnessed too many conversations that changed everything. Our living room isn't much—faded floral curtains that came with the apartment, the coffee table with water rings I've stopped trying to remove, photos I arranged on the wall in a pattern that once felt artistic but now just seems like an attempt to cover cracks in the paint. But in this light, with dust motes dancing in the sunbeams, there's a soft kind of beauty to it. Or maybe that's just Jack's presence, the way he makes even ordinary spaces feel charged with possibility. "You're quiet tonight," he sa
The wheels of my suitcase grind against the gravel as I make my way to Angela's front door, the weight in my chest mirroring the heft of the bag I'm dragging behind me. The sky is a dusky gray, like the color of the ocean during a storm, and it seems fitting—my life, too, is caught in a tempest. I pause for a moment, taking in the quaint porch with its hanging pots of cheerful petunias swaying gently in the wind. Relief washes over me in an unexpected wave, mingling with the profound sadness that has taken up residence in my heart. My fingers hesitate on the doorknob, slick with perspiration despite the evening chill. This threshold marks the border between my past and my uncertain future. With a deep breath meant to steel my nerves, I push the door open and step into the warmth of Angela's house. It's unfamiliar—this isn't the home I've known for years—but there's something about the soft glow of the lamps and the faint scent of jasmine in the air that whispers of new beginnings. "
The buzz is subtle, a vibration against my thigh that might as well be a siren wailing in the silence of my own guilt. I let out a slow breath, willing my fingers to stillness before they betray me and reach for the phone hidden in my pocket. The hardware store hums around me, the clink of metal, the shuffle of footsteps, all oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. "Can I get some help with these nails?" A customer's voice pulls at the hem of my attention, but it's frayed, unraveling quickly. "Of course," I murmur, plastering on a smile that feels like a mask. I keep my hand from my pocket, away from the source of anxiety gnawing its way through my composure. But curiosity, as ever, proves a relentless foe. As the customer ambles away, satisfied with his purchase, I give in, sliding the phone out just enough to glimpse the screen. The message blares up at me, just three little words that hold the weight of my world teetering on the edge: "She knows." My heart stumbles over beats







