Page 29 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
A whisper of movement near the doorway.
My entire body stilled.
Every nerve sharpened at once, snapping into awareness.
My head turned toward the broken entrance, instincts rising fast and sharp despite the exhaustion weighing down my limbs.
Another sound.
Barely there—so faint it almost didn’t exist.
A soft scuff against tile, like the careful repositioning of a shoe or the smallest shift of weight in a silent room.
But I heard it.
My pulse spiked immediately, sharp and uncontrollable, as my body reacted before my mind could decide whether there was actually anything to fear.
The door was still hanging off its hinges—wide open, leaving my apartment exposed to the night.
Anyone could walk in. Anyone could be standing there right now, watching, waiting—
I pushed myself to my feet slowly, ignoring the way my muscles protested.
My cane found my hand automatically.
I swept it lightly across the floor as I moved forward, each step careful.
The air shifted as I got closer to the doorway.
The night breeze slipped through the broken frame, brushing against my skin.
I stopped just short of the entrance.
Listened.
There it was.
Breathing.
Quick. Shallow. Uneven.
Not an adult.
My grip tightened slightly around the cane, knuckles stiffening as I stayed completely still, letting the sound map itself in my mind before I took another step.
An adult’s breathing would have been steadier, deeper, even when afraid. This was different—too fast, too light, breaking in small, uneven patterns like it couldn’t find rhythm.
Like it was trying not to cry.
Each inhale hitched faintly, catching at the edges.
Each exhale trembled just enough to betray the fear being held back.
It wasn’t just fear.
It was terror—so thick I could almost feel it in the air between us, pressing against my skin like something cornered and waiting to break.
I softened instantly.
