BOOK 3: Chapter 6: Heat in the Laundry Room
The whir of the washer is soft but constant, a rhythmic churn that echoes faintly down the hall like the pulse of a slow-building storm. She isn’t looking for Adrian. She tells herself that with every step she takes toward the laundry room. She’s only here for a load of towels. That’s it.
Gregory had left early again, his usual kiss on her forehead, brief and casual. “Be back around five,” he’d said. “Got a meeting at the firm and lunch with Martin.” He hadn’t noticed the tightness in her voice when she replied. Hadn’t seen the shadows under her eyes from the night before.
She hadn’t mentioned the note. Or the knock. Or the turning doorknob.
Now, barefoot and in a soft beige tank top and thin cotton shorts, she pads toward the laundry room, f
