The Woman At The Door Daniel Hurst (online e reader TXT) 📖

tonight, and what is even more infuriating than being accused of doing something that I didn’t do is not knowing who my accuser is.

I continue to think about the women in my life and who I might know who could have been the one to call at my home this evening. There are a few blonde women in my friendship group, but Rebecca knows them, so she would have recognised them if they came here. There’s a blonde woman in my office, but she’s in her fifties, and Rebecca believed her to be of a similar age to us. And there are several blonde women at my gym, but I have never spoken to any of them, and they shouldn’t know where I live, who I’m married to or have any reason to make up a lie about me.

So with all that considered, who am I left with?

Nobody. I don’t have the slightest idea who this person could be, and that is very troubling to me. It’s troubling because I don’t know why she decided to come here tonight.

It’s also troubling because I don’t know if she is planning on coming back.

5

THE WOMAN

I have just paid a visit to Sam and Rebecca’s house and dropped the bombshell on their doorstep before turning and walking away into the night. I expect they are now having an interesting conversation in which all manner of topics will be on the table.

Trust. Loyalty.

Lies.

I’d love to be a fly on the wall in that house, eavesdropping on their discussion and hearing what Rebecca has to say to her husband, as well as all the ways in which he tries to defend himself. But I couldn’t hang around for too long. My visit will have had more of an impact if I just said what I needed to say and left.

I want to cause maximum shock and maximum confusion.

I imagine that it is mission accomplished.

The sound of my high heels on concrete is the only noise on this quiet road now as I make my way towards my car, which I parked a couple of streets over from where Sam lives. I didn’t want either him or his wife to see the number plate of my vehicle as that would have been a possible way for them to try and find out who I was if they shared that information with the police, although I’m not sure how interested the police would have been in looking for me. After all, there has been no crime committed here tonight. I’m just a woman who knocked on a door and said a few words. I didn’t swear or shout. I kept calm, said my piece and I didn’t stay for a minute longer than I needed to.

In the eyes of the law, there is nothing wrong with saying what I did.

But in the eyes of a happy marriage, there is a lot wrong with it.

Telling a woman that I slept with her husband is the kind of thing that won’t be forgotten easily by the married couple, and their discussion of my claim is sure to put their relationship to the test. But of course, that’s exactly what I want. The way I see it, Rebecca and Sam are a pillar of stone, and I am a chisel. They are strong while I am crafty. They appear sturdy, but I can find a weakness.

They might seem unbreakable, but I can cause them to crack.

There is no doubt that there is a crack in their relationship now. How big that crack is remains to be seen, but like any good craftsman with his trusty tool, I will keep chipping away until I break through and get what I need.

I will turn those cracks into deep fissures.

I had no idea which one of the pair would answer the door when I knocked on it this evening, but I was prepared for either eventuality. If it had been Sam, I had another script to say, and it would have been very different to the one I ended up using on Rebecca. But I’m glad it was her that I spoke to.

I find this always works best when it’s the wife who answers the door.

Reaching my vehicle, I make a quick check behind me to make sure that I haven’t been followed before opening the door and getting in behind the wheel. Taking off my heels, I replace them with the trainers that I had waiting for me on the passenger seat, and my aching feet thank me for the change. I didn’t have to wear heels for the visit tonight, but I feel that they are more effective for what I was aiming to do. Rebecca would have been intimidated by me no matter what I was wearing after what I just said to her, but heels will have more impact than trainers, that’s for sure.

I want her to think that I’m a maneater, not a marathon runner.

With my comfy trainers back on, I’m in a better state to drive, so I start the engine and put my car into motion. It’s a short drive back to where I am staying tonight, and I’m already looking forward to getting changed and having a warm shower before relaxing on the bed and finding something good to watch on the TV. But I’ll find it hard to concentrate on anything else this evening other than Rebecca and Sam and what they are saying about me right now.

Sam will be saying that I was lying but isn’t that what every man would say if their wife thought they had been cheating? He will also be saying that he has no idea who I am. Again, what else could he say? He could hardly admit to anything that might see him kicked out of the house, could he?

Rebecca will be saying that I seemed assured and sincere when I spoke, or at least I hope she will be because I did try my best to