The Woman In The Window Novelas e Histórias

A woman seated in her closet, watching the Argents, a look of smugness coating her face. The second. Two ladies laying on a queen size bed in their room, watching a rom-com. The bigger one slips out of the bed and wields an almost empty container. She tries to steal something from her friend and leaves the room laughing when something's chucked at her. An intruder has successfully entered through the unlocked windowpane and is waiting in the darkness. The lady, unaware of what is going on walks to the window and stares into the dark Californian sky. She is attacked.

Today she was announcing her comeback from hibernation, the man sitting next to Robert filled him in. From his back seat Robert saw a woman with a sensuous figure wearing a strapless Mermaid illusion electric blue sparkling evening gown walk in. A diamond choker necklace, matching chandelier earrings and thick bracelet caught the light with each of her movements as her long wavy luscious hair gave her a dreamy and mesmerizing appearance. Wait!, why did she look familiar?, Robert felt his mouth open agape. Was he going mad? Why was this stunning woman reminding him of Sarah?

The window rolled down. It wasn't Julian. It wasn't the Mother. It wasn't a machine. Sitting in the driver’s seat was a woman with grey streaked hair and a pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She looked like a librarian, or a teacher, or a grandmother who had seen too much. She was holding a clipboard, and on it was a list of names. Most of them were crossed out in red ink. "Name?" she asked, her voice brisk and utterly bored.

Thirty-two floors down the street was doing its ordinary Wednesday morning things — people, a delivery truck, the organized chaos of a city going about its business. And then. Across the street. Standing completely still on a moving pavement in a way that nobody stood still. A woman in dark sunglasses and a coat I had never seen, her hair slightly different from mine but her face — even from thirty-two floors up, even behind the glasses — My face. My exact face. She looked up at the window. She raised one hand — not a wave, just an acknowledgment. Just: I see you. I need you to understand I am real and this is not a bluff.

Realizing I wouldn't budge, his tone sharpened as he tried to persuade me again. "If you won't answer it, I will!" I pushed his hands away and made a move to get out of bed to head for the door. Yet, he abruptly seized me, attempting to forcefully shove me into the bathroom. I tried to break free from his hold, but the difference in strength between us was overwhelming. As he was about to force me inside, the front door was kicked open from the outside. The very next second, a young woman in a white dress stormed in with several netizens, who were holding up their phones and livestreaming everything. The young woman was the original poster herself, a third-year medical student named Elowen J

Who had been reaching for something she could not name because the naming would have required confronting things she was not yet ready to confront. What she felt at this window now was different from that. Was not a longing. Was a satisfaction. The particular quiet satisfaction of a woman who had done something difficult and done it honestly and found that the doing of it had produced something real — in herself, in the book, in the room of women who had been waiting for it, in the woman in the front row who had read it four times and needed to see that she was real. She was real. Standing at this window in this city.

"That's very kind of you. You can leave them on the desk." I walked in. I kept my eyes forward, set the cloth down on the edge of his desk, and told myself very firmly not to look at the woman by the window. I looked at the woman by the window. She was watching me. She was.... there was no other word for it.... stunning. The kind of face that stopped you without asking permission, sharp and elegant and completely certain of itself. Her hair was dark, her eyes were light, and she held herself with the particular stillness of someone who had learned to take up exactly as much space as they intended to and not a fraction more.

The window rolled down just an inch, and a cold, metallic glint caught the light. She was no longer just the woman with the truth. She was the woman in the crosshairs. ***

"The feds are gone. Reed is finished. Your father is dead. It’s just us." "It's never just us, Caleb." I looked at the house. I saw a light go on in the upper window. A silhouette stood there. It wasn't Sophia. It was a woman. She was holding a baby. "Who is that?" I pointed at the window. Caleb turned. His face went gray. "No. That's not possible." "Who is she, Caleb?" The woman in the window raised a hand. She waved. Slow. Deliberate. The door to the house opened.