CHAPTER 3: THE SHADOW OF THE PORCH

The moving van arrived on a deceptively cheerful Saturday morning, its engine rumbling like distant thunder against the backdrop of chirping sparrows and rustling oaks. Lisa watched from her kitchen window as boxes were unloaded from the truck and carried into number 40—the house that had stood empty for nearly a year. She felt a flicker of curiosity, nothing more.

But when the woman stepped out of the cab, Lisa’s coffee cup froze halfway to her lips.

She was tall and willowy, with honey-blonde hair that caught the sunlight like spun gold. Her sundress was simple—ivory cotton with tiny embroidered daisies, but it draped her figure with an elegance that felt almost cinematic. She moved with a confidence that bordered on performance, as if every step were choreographed for unseen audience. And then she turned, scanning the street with clear, guileless blue eyes that landed on Lisa’s window.

Lisa quickly stepped back, her heart thudding for no reason she could name. Just a new neighbor, she told herself firmly. Nothing to be nervous about. Yet, by afternoon, that certainty had begun to fray.

The knock came just after three o’clock. Lisa was arranging sunflowers in a vase. She wiped her hands on her apron and opened the door.

“Hi,” the woman said, her voice a melodic lilt that seemed too polished for a casual greeting. “I’m Tessy. Tessy Moore. I just moved into number 40.” She gestured toward the house with a graceful sweep of her hand, then held out a small potted orchid. “I wanted to introduce myself and bring a little housewarming gift.

Lisa forced a polite smile, though her skin prickled with unease. “That’s very kind of you. I’m Lisa.”

As she stepped aside to let Tessy in, she saw Grey appear at the end of the hallway. He’d been working in his study, but the unfamiliar voice had drawn him out. The moment his eyes met Tessy’s, his entire body went rigid. His face—a canvas of warm familiarity just seconds before—went utterly blank, as if a switch had been flipped.

“Greyson!” Tessy exclaimed, her smile widening into something dazzling. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me. It’s been… what, five years?”

A beat of silence stretched taut between them, thick enough to choke on. Lisa felt the air grow heavy, charged with a history she didn’t understand.

“Tessy,” Grey finally acknowledged, his voice carefully neutral. “From the Chicago office.”

“Yes!" she said, stepping fully inside now, her gaze sweeping over the living room with an appraising air that made Lisa feel like an intruder in her own home. “You were the lead architect. I was just a junior designer, fresh out of school. You were a... legend"

Lisa watched the exchange, her stomach twisting into knots. Tessy’s presence was like a shard of ice dropped into their warm, sunlit room—suddenly everything felt colder.

Tessy stayed for twenty minutes, filling the space with light, airy chatter about the neighborhood, the weather, her plans for renovating her new house. She asked Grey a dozen questions about local contractors, zoning laws. He answered with detached professionalism, his sentences clipped and precise.

When Tessy finally left, orchid in hand and a promise to “see them around,” the silence she left behind was deafening. Lisa turned to Grey, her voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady. “Chicago? Five years ago?”

He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her eyes. “It was nothing, Lisa. Just a project. She was on the team for a few months. I barely remember her.” But Lisa remembered the look in his eyes when Tessy had first said his name.

Over the next week, Tessy’s presence became impossible to ignore. She was suddenly everywhere. She’d be walking her ridiculously fluffy white dog, at the exact time Lisa took her evening stroll. She’d be at the local coffee shop, “coincidentally” sitting at the table next to theirs, her laughter ringing out a little too brightly whenever Grey spoke.

At first, Lisa tried to dismiss it as mere neighborly friendliness—an over-eager newcomer trying to make connections. But the way Tessy looked at Grey—the lingering glances, the way her hand would brush his arm when asking a question—spoke of something far more calculated.

Worse still was Grey’s reaction. He maintained his cool, professional facade, but Lisa could see the cracks. He became more withdrawn, spending longer hours at his drafting table, his mind clearly elsewhere.

One afternoon, Lisa returned home early from a cancelled client call to find Tessy in his living room. Grey was standing by the window, his back to the door, while Tessy sat on their sofa, flipping through one of his private sketchbooks—the one filled with personal designs, dreams he’d never shown anyone.

“Oh, Lisa!” Tessy exclaimed, snapping the book shut with a guilty look that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I was just showing Grey some of the floor plans for my sunroom. He has such a brilliant eye for spatial flow.”

"I’m sure he does.” Lisa muttered. The air was thick with unspoken tension.

After Tessy left, the dam broke. “What was she doing looking through your private work?” Lisa demanded, her voice trembling with a mixture of hurt and fury. “She asked to see it,” Grey said, his voice tight. “She’s interested in architecture.”

“She’s interested in you!” The words burst out of her, raw and exposed.

He flinched, and for a moment, the mask slipped. She saw a flash of guilt before it was replaced by defensiveness. “Don’t be paranoid, Lisa. She’s just a girl who needs help with her house. There’s nothing going on.”

“Then why can’t you look me in the eye when you say that?”

He didn’t answer. He just walked past her into his study and closed the door, leaving her standing alone in the wreckage of their trust.