The Night in Room 404
After a blistering argument with Mark, I grabbed my purse and bolted out of the house. I couldn’t stand another second of that suffocating atmosphere. I checked into a small hotel tucked away in a quiet alley, renting Room 404 on the top floor just to find some peace. I locked the door, slid the security chain into place, and eventually fell into a fitful sleep fueled by tears.
The next morning, a sliver of sunlight peeking through the curtains woke me up. Just as I started to stretch, I froze. A warm breath brushed against the back of my neck. My heart stopped. I slowly turned around, my eyes widening in absolute terror.
Right there, under the thin duvet, was a man.
I was about to scream, but the sound died in my throat when I realized it was Mark—my husband. He was still fast asleep, his face looking exhausted. A wave of relief mixed with confusion washed over me. “How did he get in here? I locked the door, didn’t I?” I thought to myself, assuming he had felt guilty and tracked me down to apologize.
I sat up, intending to wake him and ask how on earth he found me. But as I looked down at the floor, I noticed my purse sitting next to a pile of strange clothes—clothes that definitely didn’t belong to Mark.
Right then, my phone vibrated incessantly inside my bag. With trembling hands, I pulled it out. A text from Mark: “Honey, I’m so sorry about last night. I’ve been sitting by the front door all night waiting for you to come home. Where are you? Please answer me, I’m worried sick!”
The blood in my veins turned to ice. If Mark had been at home all night… then who was the man lying next to me?
I looked down at the man’s hand on the bed. There was no wedding ring, but on his wrist was a jagged, red scar—the exact mark of the fugitive I had seen on the news the night before. At that moment, I realized the door chain hadn’t been forced; it had been opened with a master key that was now sitting prominently on the vanity.
The man stirred, his eyes slowly fluttering open. He looked directly at me and flashed a twisted grin. “Morning, neighbor.”
