His hand was large-knuckled, calloused from weights, gripping mine with demonstrative strength. Stunned, my mind blanked. I shook mechanically. His grip was hot, forceful, oppressive. "Emily home? Didn't see her today, no reply... worried. Nearby, thought I'd check in." His tone implied routine concern. But his eyes scanned past my rigid shoulder, appraising the space.
Bedroom Visit
Emily heard his voice. A ragged, surprised call came from the bedroom, tinged with... panic? "Ryan? Is that you?" "Em! Just me!" Ryan's voice instantly dripped with exaggerated solicitude. "Heard you're sick? Bad? Brought fruit, vitamin C, get well quick!" He bent smoothly to remove his shoes, moving with domestic ease, brushing past me towards the bedroom. The garish basket swung like a taunt.
My Place
I stood frozen in the entryway, a wooden post. Cold air seeped through the unclosed door, chilling my neck, yet heat roared in my head. *My* home. *My* wife sick in bed. This stranger, radiating threat, invaded without permission? Without acknowledging me? I slammed the door with a dull boom, steps leaden as I trailed him. The bedroom door stood ajar, a dark maw. I halted in the hallway, pinned by a mix of rage, humiliation, and a vile urge to eavesdrop, my back pressed cold against the wall.
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