Page 9 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
No footsteps outside. No hand testing the handle.
No ragged breath of a predator closing in on its prey.
Just the distant hum of traffic... a car passing somewhere far off... and the faint, steady drip of water from a gutter.
Seconds stretched.
Then longer.
My lungs slowly remembered how to work.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
“You’re fine,” I whispered, though my voice trembled. “You’re fine, Loretta.”
But the words felt thin.
I swallowed hard and pushed myself off the door, my legs unsteady as I moved deeper into the apartment.
I didn’t need sight to navigate this space.
This place was mine.
Every inch of it.
Twenty steps from the door to the armchair.
I counted them without thinking, my cane tapping softly ahead while my free hand skimmed the wall.
My heart still pounded, every nerve straining for a sound that might follow me inside.
When the worn velvet of the armchair finally brushed my fingertips, relief crashed over me so suddenly my knees almost buckled.
I sank into it, exhaling shakily as the cushions wrapped around me like something protective.
I sat frozen, clutching the armrests, forcing myself to breathe after the frantic run.
I didn’t know who he was, but I knew what he was—a threat.
And worse... I felt it.
That he wasn’t gone.
That he was coming.
My heart wouldn’t settle, racing harder with every passing second.
My grip tightened.
Then—
BANG!
