The Housemaid’s Wedding: A Short Story

Have you checked your coat closet since your boyfriend left this morning?

My stomach flips as my gaze lifts to the small closet across the room from me, which contains our coats and boots. The door to the closet is closed. “What did you say?”

“Your coat closet,” he repeats. “I’ve got a great view of you.”

“You’re lying,” I choke out.

“I’m not, Millie.” His voice is almost singsong. Teasing me. “But if you’re so sure, why don’t you check?”

Before he can taunt me further, I press the red button on my phone to end the call. I lower it from my ear with a trembling hand, wishing I had hung up a minute sooner. I had been so certain this guy was harmless and just trying to scare me. All talk.

But how did he know Enzo left the apartment?

My eyes are pinned on the coat closet across from me. The door is closed, and there’s no sign of light or movement underneath. Is it possible someone is hiding in there?

No, there couldn’t be. We lock and deadbolt our door at night because we don’t live in a great neighborhood. Actually, that’s an understatement. Because our financial situation is rather tenuous at the moment and we’re saving every penny for when the baby comes, the number one thing we were looking for in an apartment was “dirt cheap.” The Bronx has some absolutely gorgeous suburban areas, but we live on what is possibly the most dangerous block in the whole borough. It’s the kind of neighborhood where you don’t venture out after dark. And it’s the kind of neighborhood where you get a damn good lock.

Our lock is a damn good lock. It’s a Grade One lock, which means it has resisted tests involving hammering, prying, sawing, picking, and even kicking. I suppose it’s possible someone could get through our Super Lock, but it would have to involve at the very least a minor explosion. We would definitely hear it. Plus, Enzo would have grabbed his coat from the closet before leaving, and if someone were hiding in that tiny closet, he would have seen him.

Although…

I didn’t deadbolt the door after Enzo left since I was in the bedroom when he took off. It seemed unnecessary since it’s the middle of the day, and he said he’d be right back. We do have the best deadbolt on the market, but it has one fatal flaw: it doesn’t work if I don’t lock it.

Still, nobody could have gotten in. There wasn’t enough time, and I almost certainly would have heard…

If you’re so sure, why don’t you check?

It’s not possible. I would’ve heard him come in—I was right in the bathroom, curling my hair. I did have the noisy blow-dryer going at one point, but surely I still would’ve heard somebody breaking in. I’m one hundred percent sure.

Okay, ninety-nine percent sure.

My first thought is that I should get out of here. If there’s any chance there’s a man in the closet who wants to slit my throat, I need to hightail it ASAP.

But what if this is a trick? I’m safe behind the locks on the front door, but if I leave, I’ll be a sitting duck. What if whoever is making the calls is right outside the door, and he’s trying to scare me into leaving the safety of my apartment?

Of course, I could call 911. That’s always an option. But I’ve now got less than three hours until my wedding. If I get the police involved, I may as well scratch “getting married” off my appointment book for today. A canceled wedding certainly won’t do much to improve my parents’ impression of me.

I need to talk to my fiancé. Now.

My hands are still trembling as I lift my phone and select Enzo’s name from my list of contacts. The phone rings a couple of times before I hear his voice on the other line. Just the sound of his Italian accent is enough to soothe me.

“Millie!” His jubilance is a stark contrast to the tension I’m feeling. “We are in luck! My friend will have the dress ready in two hours. We will have time to get it before we have to be at city hall.”

“Great.” Any concern I had about the dress is completely overshadowed by my paralyzing fear of whatever is in the coat closet. “Are… are you almost home?”

“Soon. Five minutes. Maybe ten.”

Ten minutes. A hell of a lot can happen in ten minutes.

“Everything is okay, Millie?” he asks me.

I should tell him what’s going on. It’s ridiculous not to. But my gut is still telling me that this man is messing with my head. And if that’s the case, the only way he will win is if I let him ruin the most important day of my life. I don’t want my wedding day to revolve around this asshole. It’s bad enough that he’s upset me, but if Enzo finds out, he will not let it go.

“Everything is fine,” I manage. “Please… please come home soon.”

“I will,” he promises, although I can hear in his voice that he doesn’t quite believe everything is fine. But since he’s busy driving, he doesn’t push me.

I end the call with my husband-to-be, and my gaze snaps back to the coat closet. There’s nobody in there. There can’t be. If there were, I would have heard him talking to me, wouldn’t I? The closet is empty. I’m sure of it.

If you’re so sure, why don’t you check?

I could wait for Enzo to get home, but I don’t want to. I want to call his bluff all on my own—nobody can intimidate Millie Calloway. There’s nobody in that damn closet. He’s trying to make me afraid, and I’m going to prove that I’m not.

Slowly, never taking my eyes off that coat closet, I back into the kitchen portion of our living room. For once, I’m grateful for how tiny our living space is. If there’s any chance I’m going to check that closet, I need a weapon. I need to be ready for whatever is in there.

The knife block is inside the kitchen. I grab the biggest butcher knife we have—one that is certain not to miss even if I stab wildly. And then I creep across the living room, the knife gripped in my hand as I approach the coat closet.

I cross the room in only five steps. I am still clutching the butcher knife in my right hand, so tightly that my fingers are bloodless. If someone is in my closet and I kill him, it would be self-defense. If it comes down to him versus me, I’ll make sure I’m not the one lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

But it won’t come down to that because there is nobody in this stupid closet. And I’m going to prove it right now.

I reach out my hand and close my fingers around the doorknob.