Chapter 4: Watching Eyes, Locked Doors

4

Derek left.

His shoes were gone from the mat, his keys missing from the hook. It was already one in the morning.

I got out of bed and went to the living room. The study door was half open, light spilling out, the laptop on the desk still on.

The screen glowed in the dark like a portal to another world. "Derek?"

I called out, but there was no one in the study.

The air in the room was stale, heavy with secrets. I checked the bathroom—no one. Derek had really gone out.

One in the morning—where would he go?

A hundred awful possibilities flashed through my mind. I hesitated, then walked into the study.

The laptop was still on. I walked over, and when I saw what was on the screen, it felt like a needle stabbing into my brain. I was so shocked I almost fainted.

On the screen was a surveillance feed, showing Mr. Carter’s room.

Every pixel on the screen felt like a violation. How long had he been watching? What had he seen?

My skin crawled. I felt exposed, violated, as if my whole life had been nothing but a performance under his gaze. Ugh...

I felt sick to my stomach.

I picked up the metal paperweight on the desk, wanting to smash the laptop, but in the end, I held back. I went back to the bedroom, curled up on the bed, hugging my legs, my mind filled with what might have been captured on that surveillance. I cried, clutching my head and sobbing, until I heard the sound of the door opening again in the living room.

My heart nearly stopped. I suppressed my voice, turned off the bedside lamp, and turned my back to the bedroom door, curling up in the dark.

Creak—

The bedroom door opened.

The living room light shone in, casting Derek’s shadow on the balcony glass. I couldn’t see his face, but he stood silently at the door, as quiet as a hunting beast.

I squeezed my eyes shut, listening for his breathing, the creak of the floorboard. Fear.

My heart pounded, my whole body chilled to the bone. I didn’t dare move, afraid he’d pounce and tear me apart.

After a long time—

Derek stepped back, and the bedroom door closed again.

The darkness was utterly silent.

So quiet I could hear my own heartbeat.

I curled up on the bed, mind in chaos, feeling as if Derek were still standing at the door, never having left.

Morning.

Sunlight streamed into the bedroom.

The alarm buzzed at seven, but I let it go on until it stopped. I finally mustered the courage to get out of bed.

The house felt colder than usual. In the living room, Derek was adjusting his tie. He glanced at me, his voice hoarse: "I’ve decided about the nursing home. I’ll come back at noon to take Dad over. If there’s anything to pack, do it in the morning. Natalie, I’m not discussing this with you. After Dad is gone, I hope you’ll be a proper wife."

His words landed like a verdict. Hearing this, my heart ached.

I pressed my hand to my chest, willing myself not to cry. The decision was made. I couldn’t persuade Derek to change his mind.

I could only walk over, hug him from behind, and say softly, "I’m sorry."

He tensed at my touch, as if unsure how to receive comfort. Derek paused, turned around, looked at me, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me. He held me tightly; my breathing grew labored, and I even felt like I might vomit at any moment.

The pressure was suffocating, his embrace more possession than affection. Finally—

Derek let go of me, wiped the saliva from the corner of my mouth with his thumb, and said with a stubborn tenderness, "Stay home, wait for me to come back. At noon, after sending Dad to the nursing home, we’ll go to your favorite..."

He didn’t finish, and I stood there, the taste of goodbye thick in my mouth, wondering if anything would ever feel safe again—or if I ever had been.