Page 106 of The New Couple in 5B

“This,” he echoes. “I can’t live without it—without you.”

I rush over to the laundry, hoping the act of changing the clothes into the dryer will help me to remember my duties, all the vows I’ve made.

“Willa,” he says close behind me. “Please.”

I need to ask; it’s been torturing me. “Did you? Did you hurt that boy to keep him quiet? Did you—kill him?”

He draws back as if stricken. “No, no. Of course not. It was an accident. A terrible accident.”

I want to believe him. I must—otherwise, I’m as guilty as he is. I don’t see how the elevator could have malfunctioned that way. But what do I know?

His eyes plead. “It wasn’t me. I wouldn’t. Never. Not even for you.”

He’s so earnest. He seems to want to say more, but finally he just raises his palms in hopeless surrender.

I stand to face him, but when he reaches for me I step away.

“I love you,” I tell him. “Maybe I always will. But please let me go.”

“Willa.” He looks so sad.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “Abi.”

My beloved Abi. His smooth brown skin and shining dark hair; his deep, dark gaze. I’ll never forget him. But I will be a better woman. A wife. A mother.

“This is goodbye.”

I run from him, take the service elevator up to our floor. All these months as we ride in the elevator, as he opens the door for us, as he brings us our mail. Every day I pretend not to know him. His uniform a barrier; as if he’s only mine when he’s dressed for a night out, a different person altogether during our shared days. I can’t wait to leave this building, this city, all the dreams that keep me tethered to the worst parts of myself.

In the kitchen I take a moment to collect myself, dry my tears, calm my breath. The apartment is dark and silent.

Paul must still be working, closed inside his office.

But when I enter the dining room, he’s there, sitting at the table. It was a gift from his parents on our marriage, a beautifully made thing that we have cherished and by far the nicest piece of furniture we own. He has a bottle of whiskey on the wood and an empty glass; I worry for the varnish until I see that he’s weeping.

“Paul.” My voice is just a rasp. “What is it?”

When he looks at me, I see all the pain, confusion, rage I saw at the graveyard.

“Ella told me that you were being unfaithful. Running around with another man. I didn’t want to believe her.”

I shake my head, all words dying in my throat, only a sob can escape.

“She says that her little boy saw you and she didn’t believe him. But then she saw you, too, coming in late at night. With him. Of all people.”

“She’s lying.”

“I thought so, too. I couldn’t believe it about you. And all these weeks I’ve been watching. I was starting to think that Ella was crazed with her grief. Mistaken, at least.”

I stay silent, remember the slamming door downstairs.

“I saw you. Just now. With him.”

His voice sizzles with rage, with despair. The words grind from his throat, and he staggers to his feet. The whiskey bottle is half-empty. How much has he had to drink? His staggering tells me that it’s a lot, too much. He brings the glass and his fist down hard. It shatters and I see that he’s chipped the table, left a deep groove.

Part of me wants to drop to my knees and beg him to forgive me. But there she is, that wicked girl who wants to be free, who wants to stay out partying, and dance across stages, and sing and act and be alive in this great city.

And she won’t let me kneel.

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