The Door

  

                                                                                 The Door


   It could be the television. Might she have left it on this morning when she left for work? She could not remember having turned the set on, but then she couldn’t remember closing the bedroom door, either. A cold current of fear shot adrenaline upwards through her chest and down her arms, sparking her fingertips like an alarm. Something was not as it should be.
   
   She didn’t normally come home for lunch, but she wanted him to find the bottle of “Old Fitzgerald” bourbon when he got home. It was an expensive and rare treat. He would be ecstatic!
                                                                                           
   She laid the card with its sexy message and the beautifully gift-bagged bourbon on the bar-top. No. She was sure of it. The sounds coming from the bedroom were not the television. Her heart began a slow beat, a cautious beat, a life unraveling beat. A strange taste bit the tip of her tongue, metallic and sharp. She tip-toed to the door. It could not be! Not on Valentine’s Day, of all fucking days?

   Twenty years crouched behind that door, waiting to pounce. Can there be a fear greater than twenty years lost? Of a lifetime spent wasting? The door stared back at her with an immeasurable dread. Twenty years of life, love, and children raised. Twenty years working, saving, and laughing together. It just couldn’t be. Not today. He had made them reservations for tonight at "Valencia’s”, for Christ’s sake! They were supposed to grow old together. It was that time for them! Could he really be in there banging some twenty-something-year old intern? 
   
   But what if it wasn’t some intern? What if he was in love? Her mind raced, searching for missed clues. How long could this have been going on? He was with someone on Valentine’s Day. What did that mean? Was it just an easy day for a star-struck seduction, or was there more to it?
   
   Her lips were trembling now, joining her fingers. Her chest was weighted, crushing her breath. What if it was Lucy? What if she lost her husband and her best friend in one life-draining swoop? What would she do then? That would be unbearable, would it not? He and Lucy had always been close, casually flirtatious. They were even cute together, how they got along so well. “Oh, God... could she have been that blind?”
   
   If it was what she suspected it was, what would she do? Not about the cheating, but with the rest of her life? She did not want to be alone. She loved her life, the life they had built together. She loved him! Perhaps she should sneak away. She could act like it never happened. The kids were at college, they would never have to know. These things passed quickly sometimes, if left alone.
   
   She heard a muffled “shush” from behind the wall. They heard her. They heard something. She began to panic. Should she run? She reached for the knob, and threw the door open... letting loose the beast that would devour her.

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