Delaney James seems to have it all-a successful husband, a stylish Manhattan townhouse, and a thriving career in fashion journalism-until it all falls apart. Her husband leaves her, shattering the perfect life she once knew. Heartbroken and desperat...
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My nude-colored Christian Louboutin pumps smack the pavement in a rhythmic click-clack as I cross the busy Manhattan Street. My long, honey-blonde hair tickles my back as it bounces against my bare shoulder blades and my peach Chanel sundress flutters in the warm spring breeze. There is a bounce in my step today that cannot be deterred. Taxi cabs honk their horns and clog the streets – highlighting them in yellow – as they rush people to meetings and business dinners. Black clouds of exhaust pollute the air as buses whoosh by. Vendors call out and advertise asinine prices on fake Gucci sunglasses, and Louis Vuitton and Hermes Birkin handbags. Tourists pack the sidewalks.
Any other day I'd be annoyed by the traffic and the fact that it takes thirty-some minutes and almost fifty hard earned dollars to go two miles, and I'd take my aggression out on an underserving spin bike – but today is different. Today I got the best news an intern could ask for, and as I ascend the stairs to my gorgeous, Upper East Side brownstone home, I begin to contemplate the best restaurant to celebrate my good news.
As I unlock the front door and type in the code to the security system, excitement bubbles inside of me.
"Hey babe! I'm home early!" I call out. I can't stop smiling as I step out of my heels and place my keys onto the cherrywood end table in the spacious foyer. "Will! You here? I have news!"
"Shit!" I hear a voice hiss from upstairs.
My excitement quickly morphs into fear as the thud of footsteps and a thunderous crash echo against the high ceilings in the main stairwell. My breath catches in my throat, and my eyes frantically dart around the room as I search for signs of an intruder, unsure of what I'll do if I find any. Will and I live in a safe neighborhood, and invested in a top-notch security system, but this is New York. Safe is never safe enough.
"Uh...hello?" I call out again. My voice comes out weak and unsteady. "Will, is that you?"
Another crash. More agitated whispers.
Are we being robbed in broad daylight?
My chest tightens and the quickening of my heartbeat is so pronounced it feels like the beat drop of an EDM song is being played beneath my breastbone. I draw my phone from my purse as I slowly climb the stairs – suddenly wondering if I should have run outside and called 911 instead of channeling my inner Nancy Drew – and pull up Will's contact.
"God, what do I do?" I whisper to myself.
One of the wooden steps creaks loudly when I put my weight on it, causing me to freeze in place. I hold my breath as I carefully lift my foot, silently praying whoever is in my home didn't hear it, but when a phone starts to ring in our bedroom – a phone with a ringtone I'm familiar with - I'm filled with an entirely new sense of dread.
"What are you doing?" I hear him ask, his voice a harsh whisper. "Put your clothes on. My wife is home!"
My lips feel dry, so I stick my tongue out to wet them, but that's dry too. My whole mouth is. I struggle to control my breathing with each rise and fall of my chest. The door is closed over, and I already know what I'm going to find, but that doesn't soften the blow when I push it open and see Will rushing to get dressed.
