Chapter 2 - The Waterfront Address
By four o'clock, I was sitting in my aging sedan three blocks away from the Harborside Estates, a gated community of glass-fronted townhouses overlooking the marina. The address attached to Unit 4B matched the leasing agency from the bank statements exactly.
The autumn wind whipped dead leaves across the windshield as I waited, my fingers resting lightly on the steering wheel. I felt no tears coming. That well had run dry outside Room 214 of the hospital. What remained was a cold, surgical detachment—the precise focus of a woman who had just realized she was married to a phantom.
A sleek silver sports car pulled up to the security gate of Harborside Estates, the driver’s window rolled down. Even from fifty yards away, I recognized Mark’s posture, though the slouch of exhaustion he always wore when he was with me had vanished. He looked vibrant, upright, and entirely healthy.
He punched the security code into the keypad, drove through, and parked in the private slot reserved for Unit 4B.
I waited ten minutes, giving them time to settle inside, before I stepped out of my car and pulled my jacket tighter against the chill. I walked past the security gate—held open by a resident walking their dog—and followed the cobblestone path until I stood directly in front of the polished mahogany door of Unit 4B.
May you like
Through the sheer curtains of the side window, I could see warm interior lighting and hear the muffled sound of smooth jazz playing softly in the background.
I reached out, my knuckles hovering just inches from the wood, and knocked three sharp, deliberate times.
