She slipped into the dark without another word, leaving me standing there with a thousand questions.
All week, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I started asking around the neighborhood, casually, like I was just curious about who lived where.
Mrs. Coleman from the second floor finally told me what I needed to know.
“Elena,” she said. “Used to teach art at the elementary school. Engaged to a lovely man, David. He left her at the altar over a year ago. Poor thing hasn’t been right since.”
“And her family?”
“Her brother takes care of her now. Lovely man, charming.”
“What’s his name?”
“Marcus.”
My stomach turned. The same Marcus who lived above me. The same Marcus who joked about the “crazy bride” downstairs and clapped me on the shoulder in the hallway.
I confronted him the next evening, knocking on his door with my hands in my pockets so he wouldn’t see them shaking.
