5. Shakespeare
Chapter five
Shakespeare
The next day
“Do be careful, dear! Make sure you rest.”
Sylvia waved at me from the doorway, already dressed in her Pilates sportswear. Her mat was waiting for her in her car, but she was taking her time, just so she could cement her facade.
Her words were no different than what she’d told me the day before. They made me just as sick. But today, I had a plan.
“Don’t worry about it, Mom,” I said, offering her a bright smile. “Have fun at your class.”
Sylvia hugged me one more time, then left the house. I stole a look out the window, watching her white Mercedes turn the corner at the end of the block.
I let the curtain fall. The house went dead quiet.
I walked through the living room, my flats tapping against the hardwood.
For six months, I had obsessed over every square inch of this floor plan, trying to build a home out of the throw pillows, the area rugs, and the expensive art prints.
Now, looking at the open layout, all I saw were sightlines and blind spots.
I reached the kitchen and flipped the lock on the sliding glass door.
Hayes stepped inside, bringing the muggy morning air with him. He dropped a canvas tool bag onto Sylvia’s pristine quartz countertops. He didn’t offer a greeting and didn’t waste time on small talk. He pulled his phone from his pocket.
“The app is synced to my garage camera,” he murmured, locking the glass door behind him. “If her car turns back onto the block, this vibrates.”
“Okay,” I said. My voice sounded thin in the massive room, but my hands were steady.
The canvas bag unzipped with a loud rasp. Inside was a mess of wires, precision screwdrivers, and three matte-black plastic cubes no larger than dice. As Hayes had promised, his order had arrived overnight. And now, we’d use the setup to build the groundwork for my family’s destruction.
No, not my family. The only family I had was the little girl growing inside me. Marcus and Sylvia were just parasites, pretending to care. And I would obliterate them.
“Where do we start?” he asked.
“The living room,” I said. “They always sit on the couch. That’s where he rubs my feet while we watch TV.”
No doubt, he’d prefer to rub Sylvia’s. Fuck you, Marcus. Fuck you.
Hayes walked into the vaulted space. He scanned the ceiling and locked onto the AC return vent set high on the plaster wall.
A solid mahogany dining chair sat idle against the far wall. Marcus usually threw a fit if the housekeeper’s vacuum so much as brushed against the wood. Hayes gripped the backrest, hoisted the dead weight entirely off the floor to spare the Persian rug, and set it down beneath the vent.
He toed off his work boots. Stepping up onto the velvet cushion in his socks, he pulled a flathead screwdriver from his pocket. The plastic grating popped loose with a sharp crack.
I hovered a few feet away, my arms crossed over my stomach. A week ago, my biggest concern in this room had been whether the morning sun would fade the curtains. Now, I was standing guard while my neighbor dismantled the air conditioning unit—all so I could spy on my husband.
“Check the angle,” Hayes said.
He had one of the tiny lenses wedged between the plastic slats. He held his phone down for me to see. The wide-angle lens captured the sofa and the glass coffee table entirely. Every inch of their playground was right there on the screen.
“That’s it,” I told him. “It’s perfect.”
The grating snapped into place. Hayes climbed down, shoved his boots on, and carried the chair back to the wall. He zipped the screwdriver into his bag.
“Next room,” he said. “Show me.”
“The guest room. That’s where she sleeps.”
I led the way down the hall, but my feet stopped short of the closed door. I couldn’t bring myself to touch the brass knob. I stared at the painted wood, the phantom thud of the headboard ringing in my ears.
Hayes didn’t offer any pity. He reached past my shoulder, turned the handle, and pushed the door open.
It was just a room. Harmless, welcoming, like it had been from the moment I’d excitedly set it up for my mother. Walking inside felt like venturing into the maw of a beast.
I forced myself over the threshold anyway.
Sylvia had made the bed this morning. The duvet was pulled taut.
The pillows were arranged in flawless symmetry.
She had meticulously smoothed the sheets, pretending yesterday afternoon had never happened.
It took a specific kind of nerve to make a bed after using it to destroy your daughter’s marriage.
Hayes walked straight to the nightstand. He picked up the digital alarm clock, turned it over, and started taking the back panel off.
I stayed near the doorway, staring down at the floorboards instead of looking at the mattress.
Beside the nightstand sat a small wicker trash can.
Resting on top of a discarded makeup wipe was a single, torn foil wrapper. Silver, with a red logo.
Marcus hadn’t used protection with me in three years.
Long before we started trying for the baby, he had sat on the edge of our bed and complained about it.
He claimed the artificial barrier ruined the emotional connection between a husband and wife.
He’d actually made me feel guilty for wanting to use condoms.
But he used them with her. He went out of his way to buy them, to hide them. Because apparently, the artificial barrier didn’t matter between him and my mother.
I reached out blindly. My fingers caught the edge of the tall wooden dresser just to keep my knees from buckling. A pathetic, jagged sound scraped out of my throat before I could stop it.
Hayes turned around. He looked at my face, followed my gaze down to the wicker basket, and went completely still.
The alarm clock clattered onto the nightstand. In two strides, Hayes crossed the room, stepping directly into my line of sight to block the trash can.
“Hey,” he said, his voice dropping to a harsh rumble. “Look at me.”
I shook my head. The condom wrapper was such a small piece of garbage, but the hypocrisy of its existence made me want to scream.
“Elena, look at me,” Hayes insisted. He wrapped his hand around my upper arm, his grip firm and grounding. “Don’t let them in your head. Not today. Soon, they won’t matter anymore.”
I focused on the worn cotton of his T-shirt. He was right, and crying over a condom wrapper wouldn’t help me destroy them. I pulled in a ragged breath, blinking the tears away.
“I’m fine,” I lied. Or maybe it wasn’t a lie. The anger was already burning the hurt away.
“The clock is set,” Hayes said. He let go of my arm. “Let’s get out of here. Where’s the last one?”
“The office.”
Marcus’s study was exactly the way he’d left it. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, filled with thick hardcovers. There was a special shelf dedicated to childcare and fairy tales. Sometimes, my mother liked to pick a book from it and read to my belly.
I directed Hayes away from those titles, toward the denser tomes Marcus never actually read.
Hayes grabbed a volume—an old copy of Shakespeare’s less famous plays—and sliced the fabric of the spine open with his pocket knife.
Then he jammed the final camera into the gap.
He placed the book back on the corner of the desk, angling it toward the executive chair.
Now I’d get to watch him play master of the universe.
“We’re good,” Hayes said, checking the screen on his phone. “We still have—”
Before he could finish the sentence, the device vibrated in his hand. The color drained out of Hayes’s face.
“Garage,” he said sharply. He shoved it into his pocket and hoisted the tool bag. “Your mother’s coming back.”
Not my mother, I wanted to reply. But my anger was beside the point. She was early, and it spelled trouble. “Go out the back. Quickly.”
Hayes nodded, already moving toward the hallway. “Be careful, Elena.”
He broke left toward the kitchen, and I went right.
My sneakers squeaked loudly against the hardwood floor. The mechanical grind of the garage door began vibrating through the floorboards just as I hit the doorway of the master bedroom.
If Sylvia caught on, my entire plan would evaporate.
I toed my sneakers off, kicking them deep into the bottom of my closet so they were completely hidden from view. Throwing myself onto my bed, I dragged the duvet over my legs, curled onto my side, and pulled my knees to my chest.
The heavy wooden door leading from the garage to the kitchen slammed shut.
My chest heaved. I was genuinely out of breath from the sprint down the hall. I couldn’t slow my breathing down, so I didn’t even try. I just threw my arm over my eyes. If she wanted to find a pathetic pregnant woman napping in the middle of the day, I would give her one.
Footsteps clicked sharply across the kitchen tile. They came straight down the hall.
Sylvia appeared in my doorway. She was holding a plastic water bottle. Her exercise clothes were completely dry.
“Elena?” Sylvia asked, her voice gentle. “Are you all right?”
I groaned softly, rolling my head against the pillow. I let my eyelids flutter open, squinting at her.
“Mom?” I croaked, making sure my breathing stayed heavy and ragged. “You’re back early.”
“The instructor called in sick,” Sylvia said. She walked over to the edge of the bed and pressed the back of her cool hand against my sweating forehead. “Sweetheart, you’re clammy. And you’re breathing so hard. What’s happened?”
My skin crawled under her touch. I wanted to bite her hand. Instead, I let out a tired sigh and leaned into it. “I just felt dizzy,” I said. “I was walking down the hall, and the room started spinning. I just needed to lie down.”
My voice didn’t shake, and I didn’t falter for a second. Shakespeare would be proud.
Sylvia bought my act, no doubt deeming me incapable of any kind of pretense. “Do you want me to call Dr. Morales?”
I shook my head. The last thing I wanted was to drag my OB-GYN into this. “I don’t think it’s necessary. I just need to rest.”
“All right, baby,” Sylvia cooed, brushing a damp strand of hair off my cheek. “Rest, then. I’ll go take a quick shower, and then Mommy will bring you a glass of ice water.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “And… I’m glad you’re home.”
Sylvia gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze and walked out of the room.
I lay perfectly still in my bed, listening to her footsteps fade down the hallway. Somewhere in the living room, a camera was blinking silently, recording her every move.
Soon, she’d be the one falling apart. I’d make sure she paid the price for her deceit, no matter what I had to do.