"Wouldn't you?" Angela's retort cut through the thick air, each word a shard of glass. "Then why is it always her?"
"Always her? You're not being fair." He shook his head, the lines of stress etched across his brow deepening.
"Fair?" She scoffed, her laugh sharp and hollow. "And what about me, Will? What is fair about this, about feeling second in my own home?"
"Second? That's not how it is." His defense was swift, but his voice wavered, betraying him. “We barely ever talk.”
"Isn't it?" Her voice rose, a crescendo of pain and betrayal. "Isn't it, Will?"
"Listen to yourself, Angela! This is madness!" Will's hands flailed, grasping at the remnants of their normalcy.
"Madness?" She echoed, her face contorted with anguish. "No, this is clarity! It's seeing things exactly as they are. I’ve been blind for so long. God, have I been blind."
"Please, Ange—" he reached out, but she recoiled as if from a flame.
"Don't!" She stepped back, arms wrapped around herself as though holding the pieces of her heart together. "Just don't."
"Angela, this isn't you," Will implored, his voice edged with desperation now.
"Isn't me?" Tears glistened in Angela's eyes, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Or is it just not the me you want to see?"
"Angela…." The word was a plea, a lifeline thrown into churning waters.
"Enough," she breathed, a whisper that held the weight of finality. "Just enough."
Will watched, helpless, as she turned away, leaving behind a silence that spoke volumes.
Back inside, Angela's fists clenched, nails digging crescents into her palms. Her breath became erratic. The house loomed around her, walls whispering secrets, each family portrait a mocking jeer. She was pacing back and forth on the Persian rug that had witnessed better days. Her heart thrummed a chaotic rhythm, every beat screaming betrayal.
No wonder Will wouldn’t sleep with her. He slept with Carol, didn’t he? That’s why. That was why he refused her all the time. How long had this been going on? Years?
"Angela," Will's voice cut through the fog of her thoughts as he closed the door with a soft click. He approached her, his footsteps hesitant.
"Stay back," she spat without turning, her voice a serrated blade.
"Please, let me explain," he implored, reaching for her shoulder.
She whirled around, shrugging off his touch like a shroud of flames. "Explain? Your lies are clear enough!"
"Angie, it's not what you think," Will's words tumbled out, desperate to bridge the chasm between them. “She’s our neighbor. I was just being friendly.”
"Isn't it what I think?" Angela countered, eyes ablaze, searching his face for a sliver of truth in an ocean of deceit. “You must take me for a fool.”
"Believe me." His hands were up now, pleading. "I love you."
"Love?" A hollow laugh escaped her. "Your 'love' is a poison."
"Angela, stop this," he tried to steady her with a touch, but she recoiled, feeling like a wounded animal cornered by its predator.
"Stop? You've torn us apart!" Her voice surged, each word punctuated by the hammering of her pulse.
"Let me help—" Will's plea strangled as he reached for her again.
"Help?" Angela jerked away, tears welling, threatening to spill. "You've done enough."
"Angie, I'm here for you, for us," he persisted, voice quivering on the edge of despair.
"Us?" she echoed, the word foreign, tainted. "There is no 'us' in betrayal."
