She fears the dark and solitude; any minor setback triggers anxiety. Mark remains her miracle cure. One call, and wherever he is, whatever he's doing, he rushes off. Last Thursday night, past ten. Reality TV played while Mark answered work emails. Sophie phoned again, voice trembling. Mark paled instantly, grabbing his coat for the door. I blocked him.
A Scream in the Living Room
"Not tonight," I said. "She's thirty; let her cope." Mark's brow furrowed. "Can she? She's suffering!" He tried to sidestep me. I stood firm. "Mark, this can't go on! You... you can't keep this up!" My voice shook. He shoved my arm aside impatiently. "Stop this!" The door slammed shut. Leaning against the cold wood, I listened as his hurried steps faded down the stairs. TV shadows flickered; silence swallowed the room.
A Long Night's Wait
He never returned. Alone in bed, I stared at the ceiling, mind flooded with years of similar scenes. Three a.m., four... the pitch-black night outside softened to gray. At dawn, keys turned in the lock. Mark crept in, chilled from the outside.
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