The door to Emily's office is a black hole in the middle of our pristine hallway, sucking in all my attention like gravity. I've been standing here for ten minutes, just staring at the handle like it might bite me.
I woke up this morning to find Emily already gone, though the ghost of her lips still lingers on mine. She must have kissed me goodbye while I was sleeping. The thought makes me smile despite the war raging in my head right now.
"Don't go into my office," she'd said yesterday, her eyes suddenly wide with panic. Such a simple request. Reasonable, even. Client confidentiality and all that lawyer stuff.
So why can't I stop thinking about what might be behind this door?
I trace my fingers along the doorframe, not quite touching the handle yet. This must be exactly how Eve felt in the garden, staring at that forbidden fruit. If Emily had never mentioned her office was off-limits, I probably wouldn't have given it a second thought. But now? Now it's all I can think about.
"This is stupid," I mutter to myself, taking a step back. "Just walk away, Charles."
I groan, half laughing at my own ridiculousness. What am I even expecting to find? Secret files? A murder board? Maybe childhood photos of that mysterious fourth friend Emily swears didn't exist. Or perhaps our wedding photos...
"Shit, I never even asked where we got married."
The thought sends me wandering back to the living room, my mind racing with questions that should have obvious answers for any normal husband. Did we have a big wedding? Knowing Emily and her flair for the dramatic, I bet it was some extravagant affair. She certainly had the money for it.
I sink into the couch, the leather cool against my skin as I look around this pristine house that's supposedly mine too. The truth is, the evidence that we're actually married is slim to none. No photos, no mementos, nothing personal that screams "happily wedded couple."
She claims it's been three years, but I can't reconcile that with the fact that she was definitely a virgin the first time we had sex after my accident. The blood doesn't lie. If I had to guess wildly, I'd say maybe we were unhappily married for a year, sleeping in separate bedrooms or something. But that doesn't explain why I wouldn't have given in eventually. She's gorgeous, intense, and clearly obsessed with me.
What I need is some red string. Like in those detective movies, I can’t remember the names to. The ones where they pin photos to a corkboard and connect all the clues with bright crimson threads. I could build my own little conspiracy wall, mapping out all the inconsistencies in Emily's stories. The idea makes me chuckle, imagining her face if she came home to find our pristine living room transformed into an investigation.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, pulling me from my thoughts. Emily's name flashes on the screen with a simple question: "Are you still alive?"
I can't help but smile at her dramatic phrasing. She's been gone for what, four hours?
"Yes, still breathing," I text back.
Three dots appear immediately, followed by her response: "I love you."
My heart does a stupid little flip in my chest, and I feel heat creeping up my neck. I text back, "I love you too," and then stare at the message like a lovesick teenager.
God, I'm pathetic. One week with this woman and I'm already completely wrapped around her finger. But there's something about her intensity, her focus on me that feels like... fulfillment. Like something deep inside me has finally gotten what it always wanted.
And that's exactly what makes this whole situation even weirder. If I've been obsessed with Emily since childhood, if I followed her around like a puppy for years, why would our marriage be sexless? Why would there be no wedding photos? Why would I drive a beat-up old car while she cruises around in a BMW?
…..
Maybe I should just drop it. There are probably secrets not worth knowing here. Maybe the truth is mundane, we had marriage problems, we were working through them, and then I crashed my car and forgot everything.
I glance down the hallway toward her office door, still visible from where I sit.
But how do you let something like that go? It's like having an itch right in the middle of your back that you can't quite reach. The not knowing is worse than whatever truth might be hiding behind that door.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm on my feet and moving back down the hallway. My hand reaches for the doorknob before my brain can catch up with the decision.
It's locked.
Of course it's locked. Emily isn't stupid. She's a corporate lawyer who keeps sensitive client information in there. But the fact that she felt the need to lock it from me, her husband...
I shake the handle a bit harder, frustration building in my chest. Locked doors have a special way of driving me crazy, apparently.
"Damn," I mutter, stepping back to examine the doorknob. It's a simple lock, probably could be opened with a paper clip if I knew what I was doing. Which I don't. Or maybe I do and just can't remember?
I press my ear against the cool wood, as if I might hear secrets whispering from inside. Nothing but silence. Whatever Emily's hiding in there, it's not making any noise.
The longer I stare at this door, the more I'm convinced I've done something like this before. A laugh bubbles up from my chest, slightly manic. I run my hands through my hair, pacing in front of the locked door.
"I must have been like this before," I whisper to myself. "Someone who can't let go of a mystery."
Because that's what I am, apparently. A dog with a bone, unable to drop it even when there's nothing left to chew. I stare at the door, imagining what secrets it might hold.
Then another idea hits me like a brick to the face. So obvious I'm embarrassed it took this long. What if this is all just an elaborate distraction? Like a magician drawing your eye to one hand while the other performs the trick. Maybe Emily's office isn't where the real secrets are hidden at all.
Maybe I'm so fixated on this locked door that I'm missing something obvious elsewhere in the house. Something in plain sight.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Charles, get a grip," I mutter, pressing my forehead against the cool wall beside the door. “It’s just a fucking office, dude. She just doesn’t want you messing with her stuff. No one would go through that much trouble to hide stuff.”
The doorbell chimes through the house, making me jump like I've been caught doing something illegal. My heart hammers against my ribs as I back away from Emily's office.
"Mark," I breathe, relief washing over me, knowing I can finally stop being tormented by this damn door. "Thank god."
You can read early chapters here.
https://subscribestar.adult/astrolust
And a link to my Discord
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