Page 152 of A Smile Full of Lies
No more hiding. No more teasing her from behind a screen. No more pretending I was someone she could keep at a distance.
It was time. I slid the mask on and made my way back to the chair that faced the living room entrance.
Let her come home to me. Let her walk through that door and see what she’d really been craving this whole fucking time.
Headlights slashed across the curtains.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. I just sat there in the dark, bathed in the low purple glow of the mask’s neon grin, and waited.
Three weeks.
Three fucking weeks without her. Without her voice. Without the weight of her stare pinning me in place like I was something holy. Something fragile. Something she might finally choose if I just stayed still long enough.
And now? Now, the game was over.
The engine cut off.
She didn’t get out right away. I watched the faint flicker of motion behind the windshield, her silhouette frozen in place. Probably gripping the wheel with white knuckles. Probably trying to catch her breath.
Still stalling. Still trying to control the spiral.
She never could.
The car door finally cracked open, then shut behind her with that soft, hesitant click.
Then… footsteps. The slow, careful shuffle of tired feet against the driveway. Her keys jangled. Her bag bumped against her hip. The soft whoosh of her sigh carried through the front door before she even touched the knob.
And then, she stepped inside. Quiet. Exhausted. Unaware.
Her purse hit the hall table with a soft thump, the bag of her clothes dropped to the floor. The door closed behind her. And I watched her.
Every inch of her, silhouetted against the faint glow from the streetlamp, her shoulders sagging, her head bowed. She stood in the entryway like someone who had survived a war but hadn’t realized yet that the battle wasn’t over.
Not even close.
She thought she was safe now. Thought she could finally breathe again.
She didn’t see me. Not yet. But she would.
And when she did — when her eyes adjusted and her gaze locked on the mask in the shadows, on the man she’d been dreaming about and dreading in equal measure — she’d understand.
I never left her. I never could. And I was done pretending.
She felt me before she saw me.
I watched the exact moment it happened — the subtle way her spine stiffened, the hesitation in her breath. That flicker of unease that had nothing to do with grief.
Oh, princess. You always knew.
She didn’t turn at first. Not fully. She stood just inside the door, her silhouette haloed in the low light bleeding through the curtains. Her shoulders curled in, arms folding tight across her middle like she needed to physically hold herself together.
Grief clung to her like a second skin. Not for him — but for everything he’d broken. Everything she’d lost. Everything she still didn’t understand.
She didn’t cry again. Not yet.
But her breathing faltered. And her head tipped forward, like the weight of it all was too much.
I stayed in the dark, half in shadow, watching.
