Page 39 of The Marriage Debt

Marcella exhales slowly. “I thought she was bluffing. I thought you’d cave. That you’d come home before it got serious.”

“That’s not faith, Marcella. That’s cowardice.”

She says nothing else. I take the book to the register and set it down. The clerk rings it up while I reach into my coat, but Marcella moves first. She pulls cash from her pocket and slides it across the counter without looking at me.

“Let me do something right.” A soft smile plays at her lips, and I can see the remorse in her gaze. I let her pay, and the cashier puts the book in a small bag and hands it to us.

We step out of the bookstore just as a delivery truck swings wide around the curb, tires cutting a wet line through the street. I pull my coat tighter. Marcella holds the door for a couple walking in behind us, murmurs something polite, and joins me on the sidewalk.

A man comes out of nowhere—jacket too big, head down. He slams into my shoulder hard enough to twist my spine. I catch myself on instinct, half-step back, one foot planted.

“Scusa,” he mutters, already past, already disappearing into the crowd.

Marcella glances back. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I say, brushing my sleeve. “It’s fine.”

She unlocks the car with the key fob, and I slide into the passenger seat, the new book still clutched in my hands. As we pull away from the curb, I glance once over my shoulder. The man’s gone already, but I'm not sure why I feel anxious.

Ten minutes later, while Marcella talks about Lev’s school schedule, my coat vibrates.

I know the buzz. Not my phone. The other one.

My hand slips into the pocket and fits the battery in without drawing attention. The screen powers up with one message notification. I swipe to unlock my phone and read it.

Restricted: 11:44 AM: Nice coat. Try not to get blood on it.

My stomach drops. I lock the screen, pull the battery, and put them both away without a sound. Marcella doesn’t notice. She’s still talking. I can’t understand a word she’s saying. All I hear is the blood in my ears. All I feel is the weight of eyes I can’t see.

Marcella talks more on the way back. Not small talk—just details about the school Lev might go to next year, how advanced he is for his age, how he could skip a grade if I wanted him to. Her voice has that careful tone again, like she’s testing how much of her I’ll let through.

I nod in the right places, offer a short word here and there. I don’t hate her as much as I did this morning. That’s the best I can do.

By the time we pull through the gate, I’ve almost convinced myself the text was just a scare. Almost.

She parks and turns to say something else, but I’m already out of the car. The bag with Lev’s book is light in my hand. I tuck it under my arm and push through the front door without knocking. The second I’m inside, I freeze.

Mateo stands in the entryway like he hasn’t moved since I left. Arms crossed, jaw tight, his eyes lock on me with all the warmth of a loaded gun.

“Give me the phone.”

I don’t ask how he knows. I just stand there, one hand still on the door behind me.

“Now, Lila.”

I reach into my pocket and hand it over. His fingers close around it so hard the plastic cracks before he even looks at it. He throws it against the marble wall. The pieces scatter across the floor, battery clattering one way, screen another. Then he walks over and stomps on it with his heel.

“You should’ve known better.”

My face burns. “I’m not just some possession you get to control.”

He turns, steps in close, and says it so low I feel it in my bones. “No. You’re my wife. That’s worse.”

I don’t move. I should. I should shove him—yell—but I’m too angry and too afraid of what happens if I push harder.

His eyes stay on me like he’s daring me to try. Then he walks past, leaving nothing behind but tension and the crushed plastic of another mistake I can’t take back.

After Mateo leaves the room, I stay standing in the same spot until I can’t hear his footsteps anymore. The sharp echo of his voice stays with me longer than the sound of the door of his office slamming. I don’t pick up the shattered phone. I walk past it and head upstairs.

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