Surviving Another Man's Wife

The elevator stopped between floors with a hard metallic shudder, leaving Mara Kline in the dim hallway beneath the red glow of the emergency light. Her shift badge tapped against her ribs as she steadied herself against the wall.

For three seconds, nothing moved except the thin black hand of the security camera above apartment 4B.

Then the elevator groaned, dropped half an inch, and opened.

Mara stepped out with her keys already in hand. It was nearly two in the morning. Her shoulders ached from twelve hours on her feet, and the strap of her bag had carved a hot line into her neck. All she wanted was to find Daniel asleep on the couch, wake him long enough to hear him complain about the late hour, and take a shower before dawn.

The hallway light outside their apartment flickered as she approached. Their door stood open by two inches.

Mara stopped.

The building made its usual noises around her: plumbing knocking inside the walls, a television murmuring behind 4A, rain ticking against the narrow window at the end of the corridor. But the open door swallowed all of it. A dark seam. A mistake.

“Daniel?”

Her voice traveled into the apartment and came back smaller.

She tightened her hand around the keys. The dead bolt was unlocked. So was the chain, hanging loose against the door.

Mara pushed it open.

The living room lamp was on, though no one sat beneath it. A glass had fallen near the sofa, its rim broken into three bright pieces. One of Daniel’s shoes lay beside the coffee table. The other was missing.

She stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

“Daniel?”

No answer.

The apartment looked almost normal. His jacket hung over the back of a chair. Her mail remained in a crooked pile beside the lamp. The television showed a frozen blue screen. On the rug, the broken glass glittered like ice.

Mara set her bag down without taking her eyes from the hallway.

“Daniel, if this is some kind of joke - ”

A soft thump came from the kitchen.

She flinched and turned.

The kitchen light was off. A narrow band of streetlight slipped through the blinds and fell across the table. One chair had been pulled away. Another lay on its side.

Mara reached for the switch.

The light came on.

Elena’s coat was draped over the back of the chair. Her gray scarf trailed onto the floor, one end darkened by water. Elena’s purse rested open on the table, its contents spilled beside it: lipstick, a compact, two receipts, a silver hair clip.

No Elena.

Mara stared at the coat.

For a moment, the apartment seemed to tilt beneath her. She gripped the counter until the laminate pressed crescents into her palm.

Elena Voss had been living in their spare room for nineteen days.

Daniel called her his wife when he thought Mara was too tired to argue.

Not legally, he had said. Not anymore.

But there had been a wedding. A house in another state. A photograph of Elena wearing a white dress and Daniel wearing the same crooked smile he had used when he first promised Mara there was nothing left between them.

Mara had agreed to let Elena stay because Daniel said she had nowhere else to go.

She had agreed because he had kissed her forehead and whispered that this was temporary.

She had agreed because refusing would have meant admitting what his explanation already made plain.

Now Elena was gone.

Mara crossed the kitchen slowly. The floor was cold beneath her shoes. She touched the coat. It was still damp from the rain.

“Elena?”

The name felt absurd in the empty room.

She checked the bathroom first. The door stood open. No one behind the shower curtain. No one crouched beside the tub. She checked the bedroom, then the spare room where Elena had been sleeping. The bed was unmade, the blanket twisted toward the floor.

Elena’s suitcase remained beneath the window.

Her shoes were gone.

Mara returned to the kitchen and called Daniel.

The phone rang once.

Then his voicemail answered.

“Hey, it’s Daniel. Leave a message.”

She waited for the tone.

“Where are you?” she said. Her voice sounded too calm. “Elena’s gone.”

She ended the call and stared at the screen.

A message appeared almost immediately.

Can’t talk. I’ll explain later.

Mara read it twice.

The apartment gave a small settling creak behind her. She spun around, expecting to see someone in the doorway.

Nothing.

She locked the front door. The dead bolt slid into place with a heavy click. Then she checked it again.

Her hands had begun to shake.

She told herself Elena had left on her own. Elena was angry, dramatic, and capable of making an exit feel like an accusation. She had done it before, disappearing for hours and returning with a new demand. Maybe Daniel had gone after her. Maybe they had fought. Maybe this was another scene in a marriage Mara had never been allowed to call a marriage.

But Elena had left her coat.

Mara looked at the damp gray wool.

She picked up the scarf. Something stiff pressed against the fabric....