Chapter 4: Echoes in silence

The morning sun filtered through the curtains like a soft whisper, warming the air but not the heart. Sandra moved around the kitchen with graceful ease, flipping slices of bread on the hot toaster while eggs sizzled gently in the pan. The scent of breakfast filled the air—eggs, coffee, toast—but the house felt unusually quiet.

Michael was upstairs dressing for work, and as always, Sandra took pleasure in making his mornings easier. She plated the food carefully—four slices of golden toast, eggs folded just the way he liked them, and a cup of black coffee that steamed like breath on glass.

She smiled to herself as she turned to go upstairs and call him down for breakfast.

But just as she reached the bedroom door, she stopped.

Michael’s voice floated through the barely ajar door. Not the tone she was used to—this was softer, flirtier.

“Hello, my queen…”

Sandra blinked.

“I’ll be coming to see you tonight. Don’t wear panties.”

There was a loud giggle from the other end. A woman’s voice. Sharp and sweet like glass candy. Michael chuckled—deep and pleased—and then the line went silent.

Sandra stood frozen at the door. Her fingers tightened around the frame. For a moment, her breathing stopped. The familiar warmth she’d felt moments ago in the kitchen now chilled into something foreign.

She adjusted her expression, swallowed the lump rising in her throat, and pushed open the door with practiced calm.

“Hey, love,” she said softly. “Breakfast is ready.”

Michael turned, slightly startled, then smiled easily. “Okay, honey. I’ll join you soon.”

Sandra gave a tight nod and walked away. Her steps were light, controlled, like someone walking a tightrope over a pit of disbelief. Back in the kitchen, she leaned against the sink, gripping the counter as questions rained through her mind.

Was that what I just heard? Who is ‘my queen’? No panties? Was he always like this... or did I miss something?

Her throat felt dry. Her heart beat like a ticking bomb.

Is he cheating on me? Does he already have a child? Is this why we’ve had no child together—because he already has one elsewhere?

The plates on the kitchen counter blurred as tears pooled in her eyes. She forced herself to blink them away. Not now. Not here. Not yet.

She sat at the table as Michael finally descended the stairs in his neatly pressed suit, the scent of his cologne trailing behind him. He sat down and ate without a clue. He chewed slowly, complimented the eggs, scrolled through his phone like everything was normal.

Sandra stared at him, her smile fixed in place.

“I’ll be home late tonight,” he said casually between bites. “Got some meetings that might drag into the evening.”

Her voice came out steady. “Alright, honey. I’ll wait.”

He stood, dusted crumbs from his lap, walked around the table and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for breakfast, my love. You’re the best.”

Then he was gone.

The front door closed, the lock clicked, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Sandra stood up and began pacing.

The house felt unfamiliar now. Every corner looked suspicious. Every memory felt doctored. Her mind raced with possibilities, each one darker than the last.

She picked up his coffee cup and stared at the lipstick-like stain his lips had left. It mocked her.

She opened his closet. Then his drawer. Then stopped.

What am I looking for? Proof? A phone number? A hidden letter?

No. What I need is the truth. But not like this—not in panic. In power.

She closed the drawer slowly, her breath coming in sharp bursts.

Sandra wasn’t the kind of woman to scream or break plates. She had endured too much in life to fall apart now.

She would not confront him immediately—not without answers.

He doesn’t know I heard. Good. Let him continue thinking he’s in control. Let him play his game—while I prepare mine.

She reached for her phone, opened her notes app, and began typing. Times. Patterns. Names he had mentioned recently. Places he said he would be.

Sandra was no longer pacing.

She was planning.

And while Michael thought she was the same loving, clueless wife... Sandra had stepped into another role entirely.

A silent hunter.

The house was still, the morning light bright and deceptive. But something had shifted.

And when the truth finally rose to the surface—because it always did—she would be ready.