2025-06-10 22:39:12
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285. The Bouquet
It was the scent that stopped her. Faint. Sweet. Familiar in the worst way possible.Ivy had been folding laundry in the upstairs hallway when she passed the foyer and noticed something odd —an arrangement sitting just inside the front door, neatly placed on the entryway table. The twins were upstairs. The housekeeper hadn’t come today and Van was still at work.She hadn’t ordered flowers.She moved toward them slowly, her fingers pausing just above the delicate tulip petals.Pale yellow. Fresh. Trimmed clean at the base, tied with a dark green ribbon.No card. No sender. Just silence.A chill crept through her spine. She didn’t touch them. Not yet.She didn’t need to.She knew.Van came home an hour later, his jacket slung over one shoulder and tie already loosened. He looked tired— but he always looked tired these days.Ivy was waiting for him in the living room.He paused when he saw the arrangement on the coffee table. “Did… you get those for me?”“No,” she said softly. “They were
284. Psychopath
It started with a phone call.Not from Van. Not from the kids’ school but from Macy.“Ivy,” she said, breathless. “I just saw her.”Ivy was standing in the middle of the kitchen, the scent of fresh bread still in the air. “Who?”“Lila. I swear it was her. At the corner of Eighth and Bell. She was wearing a big coat and sunglasses, but I’d know that walk anywhere.”Ivy’s stomach dropped.“You’re sure?”“I followed her for half a block, but she ducked into one of those new cafés. Ivy, she looked right at me—and smiled.”Ivy hung up only after reassuring Macy she was fine. But the second the call ended, she grabbed her coat and keys.She didn’t tell Van.Not yet.She needed to see for herself.The cafe was one of those minimalist places with matte black walls and gold -stemmed light fixtures. Ivy walked past it twice before she worked up the nerve to step inside.It was quiet. Midday lull.Only a few patrons sat scattered in the sleek booths— one woman in a blazer tapping on a laptop, tw
283. Suspicions
The mansion breathed easier these days.There was laughter in the kitchen again —soft and shy, but real. Ivy had started watering the balcony plants herself, a habit she’d dropped during the winter. Van had moved some of his meetings to remote calls so he could be home more often, especially in the mornings when the twins were at their wildest.The twins were thriving. Drawing spaceships and running around the halls, loud and confident. Ivy loved the noise. It made the house feel lived in.Still, the quiet between the joyful moments had a tension to it. Something unspoken.A waiting.On Wednesday, Ivy spent the afternoon organizing the front hall closet. It wasn’t necessary— it was already tidy —but her hands needed something to do. She was halfway through sorting winter coats when she found it.A pale green scarf, silk, expensive.Not hers.Not from her kids.Not from Van.Her chest tightened.She recognized it.Lila had worn it the week before she left.Ivy sat back on her heels, st
282. A Family
The mansion woke slowly, Sunlight dripped through the tall windows, warm and golden, and the smell of coffee curled through the halls like an invitation. Ivy stood barefoot in the kitchen, her hair in a loose braid, sleeves rolled up as she whisked pancake batter in a white ceramic bowl. She didn’t glance up when Van entered. But he didn’t need her to. He moved to the counter beside her and reached for a pan, the same way he used to when they first moved into this place— before the titles, before the staff, before everything got so complicated. No words passed between them for a few minutes. Just the scrape of the whisk, the sizzle of butter, the low murmur of the twins upstairs. Finally, Van said quietly, “I can make the coffee.” “I already did.” He nodded. “Pancakes smell good.” “They’re not healthy,” she said without looking at him. “I’m spoiling them.” “They could use a little spoiling.” That earned him the smallest smile. Not full. Not forgiving. But somethin
281. Healing
The house had fallen into that deep quiet that came after the twins were in bed. Their laughter, their stomping footsteps, their shrieking giggles—all gone now, folded into dreams. The hallway lights were dim. The curtains drawn. And somewhere behind the closed bedroom door, Ivy was likely lying in the dark, eyes open, not yet ready to forgive.Van stood in the downstairs hallway, just outside the guest wing.He didn’t knock.He opened the door and stepped inside.Lila was in her reading chair by the window, legs curled beneath her, a blanket draped casually over her lap. Her head tilted when she saw him.“Van,” she said with a soft smile. “I was wondering when you’d come talk to me.”He shut the door behind him. Not loudly, but with finality.She uncrossed her legs and sat straighter, pulling the blanket tighter like she was preparing for something intimate.He didn’t sit.“I talked to Ivy,” he said.Lila stilled. The smile on her face twitched, then settled back into place.“Oh?”“I
280. The Truth, Finally
The following morning, Van sat in his corner office with the skyline stretched wide beyond the glass. The city shimmered below— steel and shadow and movement— but the noise stayed out. Inside, it was all silence. He stared at the unopened email on his screen for the third time in twenty minutes. Subject: Q3 Forecast — Urgent Review Needed He didn’t open it. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the leather armrests, and tried not to picture Ivy’s face from the night before— the way she’d watched him, like someone looking at a familiar painting that suddenly seemed… different. She hadn’t accused him of anything. She hadn’t even raised her voice. But she knew something. And Lila? Lila had gone right back to playing the helpful guest, the live-in family friend who folded the twins’ laundry and offered to make breakfast. As if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t called him home with a lie about a child fainting just to try to force herself on him in the hallway
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