Intruder

“What is…” I stand motionless except my trembling hands as April hugs me. She pulls away and holds me by the shoulders as she sighs with satisfaction.

“I’ve made some snacks for Tommy. You should eat too. It’s good for you and the baby.” April smiles as she puts a hand on my stomach.

I slap her hand away. I glance back at Tom in disbelief. He smiles warmly at April.

“Why… why are you in our house?” I ask as Tom carries my one bag past us into the living room.

“I live here, silly,” she smiles brightly. Arrogantly, she starts dancing around the foyer with the free confidence of someone feeling right at home. After a few joyful spins, she rushes to me and takes my coat, whispering, “I told you, honey. First your husband. Then your house. Next will be your child.”

Her hand lowers to my stomach again. This time her hand is much firmer as she lets her fingers dig into my skin.

I feel my heart stop. No. This can’t be true. I slap her hand off me again. She gasps and falls, crashing into a decorative table with a plant potted in a glass vase.

 She cries out in pain as the plant falls and she crashes too hard onto the large pile of glass and dirt.

Tom’s head perks up. He drops the items he’d been unpacking onto the couch and rushes back to the foyer.

He doesn’t look at me as he rushes to his precious April. He immediately checks her hands. She has a small cut on the tip of a finger. Her hands are otherwise dirty but fine.

“What happened?” The depth of the concern in Tom’s voice should be sickening but it only hurts. Does he care for her so much? Even in front of me?

He looks at me and I can’t read the expression in his eyes. Disgust? Angry? Annoyance?

It’s not a look I ever imagined he’d use on me.

“Don’t blame Chloe,” April moans in a pained voice. “She must be overwhelmed.”

“What did you do?” Tom asks me. His eyes don’t leave me as he helps her to her feet. He misses the smirk on her face.

“No, I—” I’m not concerned that she fell. A large part of me hopes she’s in as much pain as she’s pretending to be. But will he sent me back to the hospital over this?

No… No, I need to escape first.

“It’s okay, Tommy. I must’ve scared her.” April keeps her voice high and almost child-like. Does this non-sense work on him? “I’m not used to interacting with mental patients. It’s my fault.”

Tom steps towards me putting himself between me and her. It feels like a sledgehammer swung down from the sky and hit me in the chest. He reaches a hand out to grab my wrist. He holds me in a vice-like grip, pulling me closer to him.

“If you go near April again, I will lock you in a room and never let you see the light of day again.” His voice is low and menacing, “is that understood?”

The threat in his eyes is real.

“I didn’t…” But I don’t finish explaining myself. The darkening in his eyes is proof enough that anything I say will land on deaf ears.

In his eyes I hurt April. And I’m the villain for that.

Besides, I don’t need his understanding. I need my freedom.

“Tommy, can I take Chloe to her room?” April asks from behind Tom.

“Don’t bother.” His icy eyes don’t leave mine.

“I just want to help” she says.

His eyes soften and he turns back over his shoulder to look at her. His voice is much softer now, “I know. I just don’t want her to hurt you.”

I feel a sickened chill run down my body. His hand tightens on my wrist before he tugs me away from the foyer. He takes me into the master bedroom. The room I used to love. It is now filled with the lingering scent of April’s favourite perfume.

“Change your clothes.” Tom instructs coolly, “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

He closes the door and I hear the click of a lock that was never on the door when I lived here.

I ponder around the room. Besides the smell, it is almost entirely the same. If I didn’t know any better, I might think nothing had changed since he locked me away.

I walk into the closet and am instantly assault by the cause of the wafting scent. Although my clothes are still hung, many new outfits – outfits that are April’s expect style – press my clothes into the corners on the shelves.

I open the drawers and find new lingerie and accessories. None of mine.

I want to be neutral. To be unaffected by the confirmation of my husband’s betrayal. But I can’t. I’m frozen.

My shaken hands lift the strings of a red lace teddy. It’s been worn at least a couple times. I can tell by the slight pulling around the seams. I glance down at the black one laying beside the now open space. One of the buttons is barely attached. Someone – Tom – must have pulled it too hard.

I’m still frozen when Tom walks to the door of the closet. He’s holding a tray of food.

“Chloe, come eat.” His voice is firm.

“What is this?” I ask him.

“It’s underwear. Come on.”

“W-Who does this belong to?”

“Put it down, let’s eat.”

“Tom!” I close my eyes trying to rien in my fear, anger, and broken sorrow. “Answer me! Who does this belong to?”

“It’s yours. Obviously. Let’s get out of the closet.” He steps closer with a hand stretched but I flinch back.

“I’ve never worn this.”

“You can wear it tonight. Now, get out of the closet before I lose my temper.”

I watch him but I can’t name the emotions crashing through me. Is he lying? Is he really trying to lie to me? Does he think I don’t know my own wardrobe.

My voice is breathless, “I don’t own any of this.”

“You can’t trust your memory.” He groans, “besides, it’s been years.”

When I don’t respond, he rushes forward to grab my hand and drag me back into the room. He tosses me to the bed and throws the tray of food on the bed beside me.

He stands over me, “eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” I feel too sick.

He doesn’t like this answer. His eyes darken, “Don’t make me feed you.”

“It’s morning sickness,” I lie.

His eyes narrow. He can’t respond. The knock on the door interrupts.