Infidelity!

Billie slammed the door behind her, badge still clipped to her belt, suitcase hitting the floor. She caught Sharon mid-step—legs bare, shirt unbuttoned, eyes wide. The air felt tight, like the house knew it’d been used wrong. Billie’s stare cut through the room, landing on every rumpled cushion and misplaced glass, and the moment her fingers brushed the closet knob, she knew. “Who’s in there?” she asked, voice low, teeth barely parting. Sharon tried to laugh it off, but the sound died quick. Billie drew the toy pistol from her coat like it belonged in her hand and leveled it dead at the slatted door. “Open it,” she said, thumb on the safety, pulse hammering her throat. The threat hung there, hot and ready, daring the closet to breathe first.