Page 39 of Silent Neighbor

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ellen Reeves slammed the front door behind her, the sound echoing through the quiet suburban night like a gunshot.

"It's always the same," she muttered, striding down the neatly manicured path.

The cool air hit her flushed face, a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere inside. She took a deep breath, drawing the crisp night air into her lungs, trying to calm the anger that thrummed through her veins like an electric current.

Marjorie's shrill complaints still rang in her ears, each word a dagger of resentment. "The roast is too dry, Ellen. The house is a mess, Ellen. When are you going to give me grandchildren, Ellen?"

She reached the end of the driveway and paused, unsure where to go. The street stretched out before her, a river of asphalt lined with identical houses, each one a mirror of her own suffocating life. Streetlights cast pools of amber light at regular intervals, creating islands of illumination in the sea of suburban darkness.

How had it come to this? How had her life, once so full of promise and adventure, been reduced to this monotonous existence?

Ellen's mind drifted back to the conversation that had changed everything, replaying like a movie in her head. She could see Troy, her husband, approaching her with that earnest look in his eyes, the one that always made her heart melt a little. His brow had been furrowed with concern, his voice soft but urgent.

"Mom and Dad are struggling, El," he'd said, running a hand through his hair in that nervous gesture she knew so well. "Dad's medical bills are piling up, and Mom can't manage on her own anymore. They need us."

She'd had reservations, of course. The thought of sharing their space with her in-laws had made her stomach churn, a visceral reaction she couldn't quite suppress. But Troy had been so sure, so convincing.

"It's only temporary," he'd assured her, taking her hands in his. "Just until we can figure out a better solution. And think of how much money we'll save on childcare when we have kids."

The promise of children, of building their family, had been the final push she'd needed. In that moment, staring into Troy's hopeful eyes, Ellen had seen their future unfold before her—a house filled with laughter, the pitter-patter of little feet, the joy of watching their children grow under the loving gaze of their grandparents. It had seemed like the perfect solution, a way to honor family while moving forward with their own lives.

So she'd agreed, pushing down the niggling doubt in the back of her mind, silencing the small voice that whispered of lost freedom and shattered dreams.

Now, six months later, that doubt had bloomed into full-blown resentment, a poisonous flower that threatened to choke out any remaining affection. Their lives had been put on hold, their dreams shoved aside to make room for Marjorie's china collections and Frank's medical equipment. The house that had once been their sanctuary, their own private world, now felt like a prison, its walls closing in a little more each day.

Ellen walked along the garden, her fingers trailing over the flowers she'd planted in a desperate attempt to create some beauty in her shrinking world. The petals were soft beneath her fingertips, a reminder of the life and vibrancy she craved.

This wasn't the life she'd wanted, not even close. She and Troy were supposed to be traveling the world, seeking out new adventures, pushing their limits before they started trying to have children. They'd talked about climbing in Yosemite, trekking through Patagonia, maybe even tackling Everest one day.

Instead, they were trapped in an endless cycle of caregiving and compromise. Their evenings were spent watching game shows with Frank, their weekends consumed by Marjorie's endless lists of chores and errands. The climbing gear that had once been their prized possessions, symbols of their shared passion, now gathered dust in the garage, forgotten relics of a life that seemed increasingly distant.

With a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul, Ellen pulled out her phone. She needed an escape, even if just for a night. The weight of the device in her hand felt like a lifeline, a connection to the world beyond this suffocating routine.

She opened the group chat for her climbing buddies, her fingers flying over the keys with desperate energy. "Anyone up for a late-night adventure?" she typed, her heart racing with the possibility of freedom.

The response came almost immediately, the soft ping of the notification cutting through the quiet night. But as Ellen read the message, her heart sank. It wasn't what she'd hoped for, not even close.

"Ellen, didn't you hear about Jake and Brad? We should lay low for now. It's not safe."

Ellen frowned at the screen, the glow illuminating her face in the darkness. Of course, she'd heard about Jake and Brad. Their deaths had sent shockwaves through the climbing community, a brutal reminder of the risks they all faced every time they challenged the mountain.

But surely that was all the more reason to get out there, to live life to the fullest while they still could? Sitting at home, cowering in fear—that wasn't living. That was just…

Existing.

Ignoring the warning, Ellen made her way to the garage. The door creaked as she lifted it, the sound uncomfortably loud in the quiet night. She winced, half-expecting to hear Marjorie's voice calling out, demanding to know what she was doing. But the house remained silent, its occupants oblivious to her midnight escape.

The garage light flickered to life, revealing the cluttered space that now housed all her climbing gear. Boxes were stacked haphazardly, some still unopened from the day she'd had to move everything out here to make room for Frank and Marjorie. Her beloved climbing wall, once the centerpiece of their spare room, was now disassembled, its pieces leaning forlornly against the far wall.

Another small piece of her life, pushed aside, forgotten.

As she gathered her equipment, the familiar weight of the harness and the rough texture of the rope in her hands, Ellen's mind wandered to her last climbing trip. The memory made her cheeks burn with embarrassment, a flush of shame spreading across her face.

It had been a clear day, perfect climbing weather. She'd attempted a difficult route, one she'd bragged about conquering to her online followers. The climb had started well, her movements sure and confident as she'd ascended the rock face. But halfway up, something had changed. Maybe it was the wind, or a moment of vertigo, but suddenly the height had seemed overwhelming. Her nerve had failed her, panic setting in like a living thing, clawing at her chest and throat.

She'd frozen, unable to move up or down, her body trembling with fear. For what felt like hours, she'd clung to the rock, tears streaming down her face, until another climber had to talk her through the descent, guiding her movements with patient words and encouragement.

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