My Mother-in-Law Slapped Me for Being a Freeloader

At 5:45 in the morning, before the house needed anything from me, I was myself.

My laptop was open on the desk, the screen the only light in the room. Aiden was still asleep behind me, one arm thrown over his face the way he always slept, and I had my headphones in and my client's inbox open and approximately forty-seven unread emails from a man in Singapore who had the organizational habits of a golden retriever.

I sorted, drafted, scheduled. Flagged three things that needed his signature and quietly moved eleven more into a folder I'd labeled "Daniel's chaos" because that was accurate and also because he would never see it. I had a system that worked. I had spent almost two years building the system from scratch, and I was good at it.

For forty-five minutes every morning it was the only part of my life that made complete and total sense.

Then Daphne's door opened down the hall.

"Mila." No greeting. Just my name.

I closed the laptop.

Breakfast ran the way it always ran.

I had Gideon's toast ready at the precise shade between dark and burnt that he required. Claudia's tea was steeping. I had cut the fruit into the small bowl Daphne preferred because she claimed she ate less when it was pre-cut, a theory I had never questioned out loud.

I made Aiden's coffee the way he liked it: two sugars, a splash of oat milk, stirred not shaken, which was not a joke he found funny anymore but I still thought about every time I made it. I used to write something small on the napkin I folded under his mug. A joke, mostly. Something stupid I'd read or thought of during the night. He used to laugh at them.

This morning I folded the napkin and set it under the mug but did not write anything on it.

Some habits you keep past the point of reason because stopping them means admitting something you're not ready to admit.

Aiden came downstairs at seven-twelve. He was already in his jacket, already checked out. He picked up the coffee without looking at it, took one sip, and set it back down.

"The bathroom faucet is dripping again," he said, scrolling through his phone. "Can you call someone?"

"I'll call this morning."

"The grout in the shower is also going."

"I know. I noticed last week."

He nodded, like I had confirmed something on a list. Then he picked up his bag from the chair by the door and left.

I stood in the kitchen and listened to the front door close.

There was a time, not very long ago, when he called me on his lunch break just to hear me complain about Daniel's emails. He used to say I was the funniest person he knew when I wasn't trying to be. He had options. I knew that. And he still chose me.

I had believed that meant something permanent.

I was washing the breakfast dishes when my phone buzzed against the counter.

Unknown number. Atlanta area code.

I almost let it ring out. I had a faucet to call about, a client email to follow up on, and Claudia's dry cleaning to collect before noon. I had a full list of things that needed doing and very little time to stand around answering calls from numbers I didn't recognize.

But something made me pick up.

"Hello?"

"Oh," she said. "You must be the wife."

I stopped moving.

"He told me you wouldn't be a problem."

The line went dead.

I stood at the sink, phone pressed to my ear, water still running over the half-washed mug in my other hand. Around me, the morning had gone completely, perfectly quiet.

She doesn't suspect anything. She's harmless.

Last night in the hallway. Aiden's voice, soft and careful, bent toward someone on the other end of a call.

I set the mug down slowly and turned the faucet off.

I stared at the phone in my hand. Somewhere in this city was a woman who had my husband’s number, knew who I was, and had spoken about me like I was a small obstacle in her way.

You must be the wife.

Not his wife. The wife. Like I was a category.

My hand was steady.

That surprised me, actually, because I expected it to shake.

Instead I set the phone face-down on the counter, dried my hands on the dish towel, and stood still for a moment while something cold and clear moved through my chest and settled there.

I was done wondering if I was imagining things.