The Angel That Set Them Free

TATSTF-2

She threw away her handbag and ran in, for a quick shower. She was back to her favorite spot in the entire penthouse, in a fresh change of clothes: the couch. Laying down on it, she pretended to sleep.

A few moments later, the door lock opened with a 'clink'. She, suddenly, felt very nervous and conscious of herself. Realizing with a jolt, that, in her hurried-ness, she had forgotten to turn her back to the door, as she usually did, while pretending to sleep, whenever it was time for her husband, to show up.

However, she hoped and prayed that he won't notice her pretend-sleep and more so, won't walk into their ~or rather his~ bedroom.

She heard the door being closed and footsteps clicking on the marble-tiled floor of the penthouse.

She slightly opened her eyes and craned her neck, to check, which way he went and heaved a sigh of relief, upon realizing, that he had returned to his den, as usual.

But today, she didn't realize, that her husband had no intention to walk out of his den, the next morning. Alive. That is.

Anyways.

This had become their routine, for the last six months, that they had been married. Six in the morning, her husband used to go out, for a jog. Quarter to seven, he came back. Quarter past seven, he left for office, in his suit, without having breakfast. Up until then, she used to pretend to sleep.

Ever since her childhood, Khushi had a habit of waking up at five, in the morning or even earlier at some occasions. So, when she moved to the penthouse, with her husband after marriage, she always woke up at five, had a glass of lukewarm water and went back to her couch ~or rather pretended~ to be asleep and started her day, only after, he had left for office.

Then, she was left, all by herself and she did what, she had always yearned for.

Seven in the evening, was when he used to come back and retreat into his den. Dinner was Khushi's responsibility. She used to keep the meal prepared and covered for him. After having her meal and going back to sleep, somewhere in the middle of the night, he used to come and collect his food.

How did she know? One might wonder.

She had seen him, vaguely, in the dim light, one night, sometime around two. And, for a tangible proof, she used to wake up to find extra dirty dishes, waiting in the kitchen sink, to be cleaned for, every day.

She rose up from her sleeping position gingerly. Slipping into the first flip-flops, from the shoe rack and collecting her phone, she, quickly, tip toed out of the penthouse.

Rage slowly seeping into her petite form, like a ball of cotton soaking up water, as she recalled the events that had taken place, just a few moments ago.

Now what? Will he expect me to take care of that thing?