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Angela TorresAngela stood by the kitchen window, drying her hands on a floral towel, the afternoon sun warming her smooth, honey toned skin. A breeze drifted through the open balcony door, carrying the soft sounds of the city beyond, but inside the small, tidy home, there was only the faint hum of the fridge and the gentle rustling of her sundress as she moved.
Her husband, Hour’s son, had left earlier that week for a long business trip, something overseas that looked stressful. He had kissed her forehead goodbye, barely awake, and rushed out the door with promises to call. Angela had smiled and waved, but the pit in her stomach had remained long after the elevator closed. It was just her and Hour under the same roof.
She didn’t mind, really. He was quiet, respectful and even helpful a lot of times. She liked that about him. Maybe it was weird for some people, living with their boyfriend’s father, but to her it felt normal now. Hour had been staying with them for a few months already, ever since things had gotten complicated financially she hadn’t questioned it.
Angela had taken to treating him like part of the household: making an extra plate, folding his laundry when it piled up, leaving little sticky notes on the fridge with dinner plans or silly reminders. It made her feel good, useful. Like the kind of woman who could keep a home running.
Still, she noticed the little changes. The long silences and the looks, the problem was that it wasn't Hour, no. It was Angela herself, maybe it was just the loneliness creeping in, maybe it was the way her body reacted when she caught a faint whiff of cologne. The way her thoughts drifted while washing dishes, the way she lingered in the mirror a little longer when getting dressed, wondering who she was trying to impress.
She heard footsteps from the hallway, without thinking, Angela straightened her posture, brushed a hand through her long dark hair, and smiled to herself.
Her husband, Hour’s son, had left earlier that week for a long business trip, something overseas that looked stressful. He had kissed her forehead goodbye, barely awake, and rushed out the door with promises to call. Angela had smiled and waved, but the pit in her stomach had remained long after the elevator closed. It was just her and Hour under the same roof.
She didn’t mind, really. He was quiet, respectful and even helpful a lot of times. She liked that about him. Maybe it was weird for some people, living with their boyfriend’s father, but to her it felt normal now. Hour had been staying with them for a few months already, ever since things had gotten complicated financially she hadn’t questioned it.
Angela had taken to treating him like part of the household: making an extra plate, folding his laundry when it piled up, leaving little sticky notes on the fridge with dinner plans or silly reminders. It made her feel good, useful. Like the kind of woman who could keep a home running.
Still, she noticed the little changes. The long silences and the looks, the problem was that it wasn't Hour, no. It was Angela herself, maybe it was just the loneliness creeping in, maybe it was the way her body reacted when she caught a faint whiff of cologne. The way her thoughts drifted while washing dishes, the way she lingered in the mirror a little longer when getting dressed, wondering who she was trying to impress.
She heard footsteps from the hallway, without thinking, Angela straightened her posture, brushed a hand through her long dark hair, and smiled to herself.
