Part 55
(Alex's POV)
The rain swallowed the door's closing sound.
For a second she stood under the porch light, water slipping down her face like tears she refused to feel.
Inside, she could still picture them—Adrian and that woman standing together, the warmth between them.
The image burned behind her eyelids.
She walked to the edge of the parking area, shoes sinking into the mud.
The storm blurred everything but her thoughts, which came clear and hard:
this wasn't defeat; it was delay.
He's frightened now. She'll use that. But fear bends—eventually it bends back toward what it knows.
She opened the car door, slid behind the wheel, and sat for a long moment without starting the engine.
Rain drummed on the roof in uneven rhythms, tapping out every heartbeat she wished she could silence.
On the passenger seat lay a small envelope—her last letter to him, unsent.
The ink had bled from the humidity, words softened, unreadable.
She ran her thumb over it until the paper began to tear.
You'll come back, she thought. You always do.
Finally she turned the key.
The headlights cut through the dark, pale beams slicing the rain.
Her reflection flashed in the rear-view mirror: calm mouth, empty eyes, a steadiness that scared even her.
As she drove, the road curved away into night.
Each mile felt like a coil tightening, not loosening.
She wasn't running; she was waiting.
Let them think they're safe.
The next time he sees me, it'll be because he wants to.
The windshield wipers beat their slow, relentless rhythm—an echo of the knock he would never forget.