"Listen to me!" Will's command was more a broken whisper than an authoritative directive. “What do you want me to do? I am being totally honest about my addiction with you. Yet you seem to think I’m always hiding something. You’re constantly asking me about receipts for restaurants I barely remember going toor why I changed my passwords somewhere when it was because I was asked to or because I had forgotten them. You call me at work constantly, and if I don’t answer, you immediatelyspin some crazy story about me doing God only knows what when I’m actually attending to patients, which is my job. You gotta stop this insane behavior, Angela. You have to listen to me.”
"Listening's overrated," she hissed, turning away from him, from their life splintering at the seams.
"Angela, please," he begged, one last attempt to salvage the wreckage.
"Save your breath, Will." Her shoulders stiffened, a fortress wall against his entreaties. "Just save it."
Her stride carried her through the tempest of emotion, each step a declaration, leaving Will to grapple with the silence that swallowed his pleas whole.
Angela's back slammed against the hallway wall, her breaths shallow and rapid. She slid down, knees buckling, hands trembling as they sought the cool solidity of the floorboards. The house echoed with the residue of their argument, each thud of her heartbeat a reminder of the discord.
"Angie." Will's voice scratched the charged air, barely louder than a whisper.
"Leave me be," she managed through gritted teeth.
He hovered, a specter of concern, his shadow merging with the fading light. "This isn't us."
"Isn't it?" Her voice was venom, laced with disbelief. The notion of “us” had become a cruel joke.
"Please," he implored, kneeling at arm's length, reaching out only with his gaze.
"Enough," Angela spat, the word sharp, a shard of glass. She pushed to her feet, ignoring the dizziness that swam around her.
"Angela—" His plea cut short as she held up a hand, silencing him.
"Silent house, silent vows," she muttered, a mantra to keep the fury at bay. Her eyes swept the room, once a sanctuary, nowtainted—memories distorted by suspicion's ugly hue. The kids were in their rooms. She didn’t want them to see her like this.
"Talk to me." Will's voice cracked, his form blurred by the tears she refused to shed.
"Angela, we can?—"
"Can we?" Skepticism dripped from her lips, her glance slicing through his unfinished sentence.
"Damn it, listen!" He rose, frustration etching lines into his once-familiar face.
"Listening's done." She turned away, her movement deliberate, a slow burn in a sea of chaos. She ran away from him.
"Where are you going?" Desperation tinged his voice, but she was already past hearing.
"Somewhere quiet," she said, half to herself, craving the silence that promised no lies, no whispers of betrayal.
"Angela!" His call was a tether she severed with the closing of the door behind her.
The bedroom welcomed her with open arms, a false comfort in its unchanged appearance. Clothes lay folded, and pictures smiled from their frames, but the air was different—thick with words unsaid, feelings unmet.
The mirror caught her reflection, a stranger with eyes like storm clouds, charged with electricity yet to strike.
She breathed in and out, a rhythm seeking calm amidst theturmoil. The anger hummed beneath her skin, a live wire without an outlet.
"Steady now," she whispered, fists clenching and unclenching, willing the anger to subside, to give way to clarity.
"Angela?" Will's voice seeped through the wood, cautious, a knock softer than a heartbeat.
"Go away," she called back, her tone a barrier he couldn't breach.
"Angie, I'm sorry," his words muffled, an offering laid at the altar of their love.
"Sorry doesn't patch holes," she replied, cold, resolute.
