1
holiday

I wasn't normally let off work an hour early.

Nose buried deep into files, I didn't remember it was a holiday weekend until Mr. Irving knocked sharply on my cubicle, startling the living daylights out of me. "Time to go. Have a good weekend, Mrs. Adams," he beckoned me with his old man-ish, business-making charm and underlying superiority. He had dipped his velvet fedora onto his balding head before he left without another word, and before I could wish him the same.

I wasn't about to complain; holiday weekends came every so often, and I was going to cherish every extra moment that I didn't have to spend on the designs and files that were beginning to fit a lot less easily in my drawers. No, I wore a smile on my face instead as I rose from my cubicle and snatched up my suit jacket, hurrying out behind Mr. Irving.

The rest of the architecture firm appeared deserted; all but one fluorescent light was off, and the single source was aimed towards the elevators, illuminating the medium-sized crevice between the two which even the most familiar of employees managed to still trip over. Many people had complained to Mr. Irving, but he insisted if not for its practicality, its irony was enough to warrant its stay. I didn't agree, but I suppose that was because I'd had to bear the brunt of that irony more times than not.

As I waited for the elevator, my tired smile grew wider. My two children, Joseph and Celia, were staying over at respective friend's houses for the night. That just left my husband, Nate, waiting for me at home. We hadn't had a night to ourselves in a while, and he surely wasn't expecting me this early — so I decided to surprise him. He loved surprises.

Nate, the perfect husband, although I was sure most women said the same about their spouses. But that didn't make it any less true — there was no one out there more fitting for me. He was my everything, along with our children, and I loved my family more than anything in the world.

The doors slid open.

I stepped inside, lowering my hand to the very bottom-right of the panel, where the lobby button was. A soft hum escaped as the button lit up bright yellow, and it immediately began its steep descent back to ground level. I instinctively fingered my shoulder bag, slipping my hand inside to touch my wallet.

In my wallet were two photos — one of Joseph, and one of Celia. They were taken when the two were each just a few days old, when the cloud of wonder at the fact that they were really mine hadn't yet lifted. For the last seven years, looking at them every chance I got became part of my daily routine. Had Nate not teased me about it, I probably would've looked at them even more. They were growing up faster than I could've imagined; Celia was seven and Joseph was five. Soon enough, they'd be gone. It was a frightening thought, which made me even more grateful for the holiday weekends when we could spend more than our usual time together.

I left the building and made it to my car in a breeze. As I started it up, I debated making a quick run to the grocery store. A new bottle of
wine seemed appropriate. But Nate was always so particular about wine, and even now I still had trouble remembering which brands were good, which were bad, and which had had a negative evolution over the years. I could've asked him about it, but I didn't want to ruin the surprise. Whatever we had at home would have to suffice.

And so I drove. The drive from Irving & Davis Inc., located in the center of Manhattan, to Westchester, where we lived, was a little over an hour on a good day. With the added rush hour traffic, I would be lucky to make it home just under two hours. However, the transition from the densely-packed, sardine-like grey structures to the calm, spacious neighborhood of Westchester made it all worth it. It reminded me that there was life away from grit and industry, something I would've forgotten long ago if we'd chosen to start our lives in the heart of the city, as Nate had once suggested at the beginning of our relationship.

I hummed, watching the stars bloom like flowers in the darkening sky. The advertisements for lawyers and lotteries appeared less and less frequently, replaced by nothing tangible. The wide highway morphed into a two-lane road, and then a single-lane road with stop signs at every corner. People from the neighborhood occasionally waved as I passed by, and I smiled politely back, but didn't speak to them.

Two-oh-two-oh-three was the number that made me sigh in tired relief when I was it plastered on a oval, forest green sign on the lawn. The one that belonged to a home. My home.

Most considered home to be the coziest and most welcome of places, and upon seeing mine — decided that it didn't fit that bill. All of the houses in Westchester had the same effect on newcomers, casting looming shadows upon them from where they stood, tucked tightly behind iron gates and stone driveways. Their colors varied from white to dull red to grey, and their structures were stiff and unrelenting. From an architectural standpoint, I knew that Westchester didn't captivate people with its innovative designs and uniqueness. Rather, it was like a modern horror movie, relying on pure shock value — people were well aware of it, but still fell for it nonetheless.

I pulled into the driveway, punching a code into the keypad before the gate swung open. The crisply painted walls entered my vision before anything else, along with the multitudinous oddly-shaped windows, which — now that night had fallen — were covered by blinds to prevent passersby from peering inside. One had a warm glow around it — the window of the master bedroom.

My lips twitched in excitement as I parked in the garage next to Nate's car, locked the door behind me, and entered the house. I immediately kicked off my high heels onto the mat right beside the door, where Nate's loafers haphazardly laid. It was a change from how they were usually placed — to the far right side, one neatly beside the other, and leaving more than enough room for mine — but I didn't give it much thought.

The house was dark, which was also different. It was usually so full of life; Celia and Joseph would be running around, screaming at the top of their lungs, while Nate would beg them to settle down with equal fervor, muttering how they were going to hurt themselves one of these days. He never really minded, though, and they knew that.

I made my way towards the staircase, my feet practically gliding over the marble floor. By contrast, the staircase was covered in thick red carpet, sensitive enough to touch that every time someone walked up it, there was a trail of dents left behind. The trail left by Nate's feet was almost faded, but next to his were much sharper dents that occurred only once per stair. It looked like a walking stick had been stabbed into it, and Nate didn't have any, at least not that I knew of.

Something sagged in my mind, though I couldn't pinpoint what. And on an evening like this one, I had no desire to pinpoint it, so I continued up the stairs without a second glance.

At the top of the stairs, I was struck by sounds. Soft and gentle sounds, which from there didn't seem to be coming from any particular direction. I looked around, but all of the doors in my general vicinity were closed, and no light came out from underneath them. All except for the master bedroom at the end of the hall, where the door was swung wide open.

The noises only grew as I walked closer, and my footsteps became lighter and more precise. My happy smile turned into a frown, and when I heard a weak voice call "Nate," sounding flustered, my heart began to race. My head spun, questions arising that I refused to answer from the outside of the room. Not until I had visual proof, that what was growing steadily like a parasite in mind was actually true, would I allow it to break free.

My brain had a hard time listening. "Nate," The voice, a woman's voice, called again. My face was nearly pressed to the door now. The rational part of me begged me to calm down, to give Nate the benefit of the doubt. Nate would never cheat on me. He would never bring a woman into our home, our children's home. That wasn't the sort of man he was. I knew that with my whole heart. But what I also knew were sounds of lovemaking, the ones I was listening to like an intruder in my own home.

Anger filled every fiber of my being, and I burst into the room, knocking the door abruptly to the side in the process. My eyes darted to the bed, where two figures — one belonging to my husband and one belonging to someone who was decidedly not his wife — flinched at the sound and looked in the direction of the source. Their bodies were bare. Their lips were red and full. Their hair was disheveled. Their faces told all.

My world froze.

* * *

Hey guys!

This is the first chapter of April Showers! How do you like it so far? I know this was pretty short and had a lot of exposition and stuff, but things will start to pick up during the next chapter :).

I'm really excited to rewrite this story and I hope you guys will enjoy it too! It's going to be quite a ride! Love you all!

xoxo,
twyla