The Spare Room
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. My throat felt packed with hot gravel. Silently, I turned. The living room was pitch dark. Ghostlike, I moved through the familiar space, pushed open the spare room door. Cold air rushed out. Unused, save for my mother’s visits. I locked the door, leaned back against its cold wood, my body folding inward until I slid to the floor. Darkness, thick as tar, wrapped me. Cold from the tiles seeped into my bones. Hugging my knees, I buried my face. No tears. None. Only my heart beating heavily, painfully, in my chest, each thud pulling at invisible wounds.
Chaos reigned: James’s tears, his screams, his pain. Vivian’s elegant fragility laced with resentment. Lucy’s eternal smile… And my Amy. Her innocent face floated before me. She needed a whole family. A father truly present. James said he loved us. His pain was real. But the lies, the four-year deception, the stolen savings, his midnight tears for another woman (though she was his late wife's mother)... it tangled into a huge, filthy knot tightening around my neck. The sound of trust shattering echoed loudly in the dark.
Raw Outburst
The next day, James appeared, dark circles under bloodshot eyes, lips cracked. "Amy… we need to talk." "Amy’s at preschool," I cut in flatly, stirring coffee, spoon clinking rhythmically against the cup. "Mom’s picking her up today." He froze, face draining of color. I felt his desperate gaze on my back. I locked myself in my studio all day. Canvases smeared with chaotic, dirty grays and blacks, lines tangling, finding no escape. I hurled a palette knife. It thudded on the floor. I needed to erupt. But the wreckage changed nothing. Evening. The doorbell rang. My mother with Amy. Through the studio door, Amy’s bright laughter: "Grandma! I drew a dinosaur!" I froze.
The mess was everywhere. Amy couldn’t see me like this. Breathing deep, I smoothed my face into a stiff semblance of calm, pushed the door open. "Mommy!" Amy cannonballed into my legs. I knelt, clutching her small, warm body—the only tangible warmth left. "Mommy, see my picture?" She lifted her face, eyes shining. My throat tightened. I could only nod. "Yes… show me." James stood in the corner, an outsider, silently watching. His eyes held longing, pain, and fragile fear. He didn’t dare come closer.
NEXT >>
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. My throat felt packed with hot gravel. Silently, I turned. The living room was pitch dark. Ghostlike, I moved through the familiar space, pushed open the spare room door. Cold air rushed out. Unused, save for my mother’s visits. I locked the door, leaned back against its cold wood, my body folding inward until I slid to the floor. Darkness, thick as tar, wrapped me. Cold from the tiles seeped into my bones. Hugging my knees, I buried my face. No tears. None. Only my heart beating heavily, painfully, in my chest, each thud pulling at invisible wounds.
Chaos reigned: James’s tears, his screams, his pain. Vivian’s elegant fragility laced with resentment. Lucy’s eternal smile… And my Amy. Her innocent face floated before me. She needed a whole family. A father truly present. James said he loved us. His pain was real. But the lies, the four-year deception, the stolen savings, his midnight tears for another woman (though she was his late wife's mother)... it tangled into a huge, filthy knot tightening around my neck. The sound of trust shattering echoed loudly in the dark.
Raw Outburst
The next day, James appeared, dark circles under bloodshot eyes, lips cracked. "Amy… we need to talk." "Amy’s at preschool," I cut in flatly, stirring coffee, spoon clinking rhythmically against the cup. "Mom’s picking her up today." He froze, face draining of color. I felt his desperate gaze on my back. I locked myself in my studio all day. Canvases smeared with chaotic, dirty grays and blacks, lines tangling, finding no escape. I hurled a palette knife. It thudded on the floor. I needed to erupt. But the wreckage changed nothing. Evening. The doorbell rang. My mother with Amy. Through the studio door, Amy’s bright laughter: "Grandma! I drew a dinosaur!" I froze.
The mess was everywhere. Amy couldn’t see me like this. Breathing deep, I smoothed my face into a stiff semblance of calm, pushed the door open. "Mommy!" Amy cannonballed into my legs. I knelt, clutching her small, warm body—the only tangible warmth left. "Mommy, see my picture?" She lifted her face, eyes shining. My throat tightened. I could only nod. "Yes… show me." James stood in the corner, an outsider, silently watching. His eyes held longing, pain, and fragile fear. He didn’t dare come closer.
NEXT >>
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