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M y thoughts drifted as I became spellbound by the rain’s melancholic melody echoing in the puddles outside. Sometimes, my imagination takes over, and I fantasize about stepping into a different reality, one that mirrors the mystical worlds I’ve encountered in books, a world that stirs my soul and makes me feel truly alive.
But then Reggie’s sarcastic tone shattered the spell, his voice cutting through the air like a jagged knife.
“Earth to Brynlynn! Snap out of it! These dishes won’t wash themselves, you know.” He clapped his hands together, the sharp sound reverberating through the room.
I jumped slightly at the noise, sighing as I stayed lost in thought, and resumed scrubbing the plate in my hand. His words hit like a cold shower, but I refused to let them douse my inner fire.
“I’ve got a late night planned,” he said, his smirk widening, “but don’t think you get to slack off. I want the house to sparkle. I know how much you appreciate keeping things neat and tidy.” His tone turned saccharine. “Oh, and one last thing…be home by 8:00 tonight. If you can.”
Resentment bubbled up. The way he always brought up my curfew annoyed me. I hated how he acted as if I had a choice.
We both knew I didn’t.
I glanced over my shoulder, refusing to look at him directly, defiance flickering in my eyes. “Don’t you think I’m a little too old for a curfew?”
Reggie’s expression was the very definition of insincerity. “We’ve been through this,” he said, his tone sickeningly sweet. “It’s not about control; it’s about keeping you safe .”
The way he emphasized safe only stoked the simmering anger inside me. I tuned him out, finding comfort in the rhythmic motion of the sudsy water and the soft clink of dishes.
But he wouldn’t let up .
“Come on, can’t you see I’m trying to talk to you?” His voice rose, irritation seeping through. “The least you could do is acknowledge me. And maybe, just maybe , treat me with some kindness? I am your husband , after all.” He drew out the word like it was supposed to mean something. “I just can’t relax knowing I’ll worry about you all night.”
I set my yellow rubber gloves down by the sink, the material squeaking as I flexed my fingers. I gritted my teeth, keeping my frustration in check as I turned to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time.
“Everything’s under control, Reggie. The house will be spotless, and I’ll be home safe. No need to worry.”
Technically, Reggie was my husband, but our marriage felt like a poor imitation of the fairytale romances I’d read about. We didn’t even share a bedroom, and the emotional connection was nonexistent. It was more like a formal business arrangement, a mere illusion of marriage.
A crooked smile spread across his face, showcasing his perfectly imperfect teeth, pearly whites with a slight gap. His rugged charm was undeniable, only adding to his allure. Tousled dirty blond hair framed his strong features, and his intense gray eyes, paired with his flawless complexion, made him stand out in any crowd. Though he didn’t quite reach the six feet he claimed, his lean, toned 5'9 frame held a presence that felt far taller, filling the room with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.
“I’ll check in with you later,” he said, tilting his head, painfully slow , as his gaze dragged over me. “And Brynlynn…you really should smile more.” He eased back against the wall, arms folded, and flashed an obnoxious, exaggerated grin. Then he pointed to it. “You’re so tense all the time. Come on…smile for me.”
I clenched my jaw and swallowed hard, arranging my features into something that might’ve passed for a smile—if it didn’t look more like pain.
Clearly satisfied with my weak attempt, he straightened and stepped closer. He gave my elbow a quick jab, then squeezed my shoulders like we were old teammates. “Atta girl,” he said, utterly oblivious to the quiet fury building inside me.
I couldn’t stand how he cloaked himself in false kindness. The truth was clear to me, though. Beneath his cheerful facade simmered a volatile mix of emotions—one wrong move, and it would detonate. I’d seen it before, and I had no desire to set it off again.
He bent down, his gaze locking onto mine as he tapped his cheek, a sidelong glance that practically radiated anticipation. I hesitated, the moment sending a wave of disgust through me, but then I steeled myself and planted a reluctant kiss on his cheek. The simple act left me utterly drained .
“Don’t miss me too much,” he teased, winking before grabbing his things and swaggering out the door, his bag bouncing behind him like a happy puppy. He whistled a carefree tune that made me want to gag. The second the door clicked shut, I grabbed a nearby pillow and pressed it to my face, muffling a scream as the pressure inside me finally released.
After a productive morning ticking off my to-do list, I decided to treat myself to a casual afternoon of window shopping, hoping to score some good finds at the thrift store. My wardrobe is exclusively secondhand. I like to pretend it’s a quirky, artsy choice, but the truth is, I’m broke and can’t afford new clothes.
On my way to the store, I passed by Charla Mae’s and couldn’t resist pausing to admire the window. The elegant storefront, with its sparkling chandeliers and polished marble floors, practically called out to me. It was a fashion lover’s dream, filled with stunning jewelry and breathtaking dresses that glitter like diamonds in the light.
One dress, in particular, always caught my eye, a soft, shimmering scarlet red number with delicate beading along the hem, draping effortlessly over a mannequin. I could almost feel the smooth, luxurious fabric against my skin, the way it would hug my curves and flow with every step. Its neckline was a perfect blend of daring and sophisticated, a glimpse of elegance that made my heart race. But as usual, my taste far exceeded my bank account. The prices at Charla Mae’s were nothing short of astronomical, making it a luxury I could only admire from the sidewalk.
A few minutes later, I pushed open the familiar creaky doors of my favorite thrift store. The old bell above chimed its greeting as I stepped inside, and almost immediately, Sadie, the warm-hearted owner, appeared from the back room. She gave me a wink that felt like a long-awaited hug.
“Bryn! Darling, it’s been too long!” she called out, her voice as bright and welcoming as her smile.
Sadie was a vision of grace. Her raven-black hair framed her heart-shaped face like a dark halo, and her deep, velvety brown eyes seemed to carry untold stories and secrets. Despite her striking beauty, there was a subtle sorrow in her gaze, an undercurrent that only deepened her mystique.
“Hey, Sadie, I’m so sorry I haven’t been around much,” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt. “Work at the diner’s been nonstop, and with everything else at home, I’ve barely had a moment to breathe.” I paused and sighed. “How have you been? And how is Elysia?”
Her face softened, warmth radiating from her as she spoke. “Oh, she’s doing just fine. Growing up way too fast, though. Time’s flying by quicker than I’d like. ”
I wished I could share Sadie’s sentiment. For me, time felt frozen, like each day was a repeat of the one before. Maybe only mothers could truly feel the passage of time as they watched their children grow up too quickly.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I said, trying to keep things light. “Time’s funny, isn’t it? Sometimes it feels like too much, sometimes not enough.”
She nodded in agreement, her face shadowed by an unspoken sadness. “I couldn’t agree more, Bryn.”
There was a heaviness in the air, a quiet moment where neither of us spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just…full. Sadie had always been good at this, allowing silence to exist without rushing to fill it. She had a way of making people feel heard, even when they weren’t speaking.
Then her mood shifted; her expression brightened. “By the way, I got in some of those retro dresses you love last week. I set them aside for you to pick through first.”
Excitement coursed through me, my eyes lighting up. “I’d love that! With a bit of free time this afternoon, I can dive into the alterations.”
She clapped her hands together, spinning with infectious enthusiasm. “Wonderful! Follow me, let’s get started!”
As we weaved through the aisles, I took in the familiar scent of aged fabric and cedar polish. The store was a patchwork of eras, each rack crammed with forgotten treasures waiting for a second life.
Sadie gestured toward a section near the back. “I set them here, figured you’d appreciate the good lighting. Oh, and I saved the navy one with the lace trim just for you. It screamed Bryn.”
“Sadie, you’re amazing! These are perfect, exactly what I had in mind!” I said, barely able to contain my excitement.
Her fingers brushed over her skirt before she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a face as smooth as alabaster. Her smile was soft, but her words were casual. “No biggie, happy to help.”
With my finds carefully in hand, I hurried home, eager to revitalize these vintage treasures and turn them into my next creative project.
I’m a self-proclaimed virtuoso of vintage revivals, turning worn-out garments into bespoke pieces that hug my curves. There’s a certain pleasure I take in breathing new life into the faded, coaxing beauty from what others have forgotten.
In a burst of inspiration, I spent a few fleeting hours reinvigorating two dresses. The first got a contemporary makeover: sleeveless with a daringly short hemline. The second embraced its retro roots, with a nipped-in waist and a flared skirt, striking a perfect balance between classic charm and modern edge .
Running my fingers over the fabric, I whispered, “Perfect.” They may not have a designer label, but they’re beautiful in their own right.
I slipped into the first dress, and it was love at first sight. The vibrant colors popped against my fair skin and curly red locks, making my emerald eyes sparkle like gemstones. It fit my petite, 5’2 frame perfectly, which was no small feat. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I studied my reflection. I’d truly outdone myself this time.
Just as I was basking in the glow of my creative triumph, the phone shrilled to life, interrupting the silence like a shriek in the night. Reluctantly, I tore my gaze from the mirror and made my way to the kitchen.
“Hello?”
“Brynie girl! How’s it going? Missing your favorite person yet?” Reggie’s voice reeked of arrogance, and his superiority practically oozed from the other end of the line. In the background, a faint thud of pulsing music bled through, the distant hum of a party in full swing.
I rolled my eyes, gazing toward the ceiling in exasperation. My jaw tightened as the all-too-familiar nickname echoed in my ears. I absolutely loathed it when he called me “Brynie.” Something about it, the casual, almost mocking way he said it, made my skin crawl, like nails dragging down a chalkboard.
“All’s well here,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral. “Just enjoying the peace and quiet and working on a few new designs.” I didn’t bother to mask the annoyance in my tone.
I knew exactly why Reggie had called: to enforce his arbitrary curfew. It was a blatant power move, a way for him to control every aspect of my life.
“Ah, your so-called ‘works of art,’” he sneered. “I’m dying to see what you’ve come up with this time.” I could practically hear him grinning, his smugness even more pronounced after a few drinks.
“Yeah, real funny,” I shot back, folding my arms across my chest. I wasn’t about to let him get under my skin, not today.
“Relax, Brynie,” he snapped, his voice tightening with irritation, the sharpness of his words laced with a cruel edge. “You need to lighten up. Can’t you take a joke, or are you too stupid for that?”
Reggie was a master manipulator. His tone didn’t just belittle, it shrank me. Made me feel like a scolded child, stripped of dignity, too stunned to breathe. He knew exactly where to aim and how deep to cut. He enjoyed the way I flinched, the way I folded in on myself. After every outburst, he’d watch me, waiting— testing —to see if I’d push back.
I never did.
“Anyway,” he went on, his voice slipping into that fake, easy charm, the edges of his words just a little slurred. “I’ll be out most of the night, so don’t wait up.” Laughter floated in from the background—female, high-pitched, unmistakable. “Oh, and do me a favor, will you? Make breakfast before you head to work. A man’s gotta eat, you know.”
The shift was seamless. His upbeat mood flipped back on like a switch, the one he reserved for when he wanted something from me.
My hands curled into a fist, nails biting into my palms. “Yeah, sure. No problem,” I gritted out, forcing a strained smile.
“That’s what I like to hear, Brynie girl,” he chirped. “Thanks, I’ll catch you later.” The call ended abruptly before I had a chance to respond.
I relaxed my fist, my fingers uncoiling like a spring released. Gently, I rubbed the crescent-shaped indentations my nails had left behind, a small attempt to soothe my frazzled nerves.
Reggie didn’t realize that I wasn’t planning on losing any sleep waiting for him, no matter how late he decided to stumble in. Let’s be real. He was never really here, anyway. Always “on a business call” or “tied up at the office,” which was just code for “hitting up the bars with Sal.” I knew the drill all too well.
After retreating to the solace of my bedroom, I changed into my nightgown and followed the familiar ritual of brushing my teeth. But when I settled into bed, I felt a strange mixture of excitement and guilt.
Under the cover of darkness, I retrieved the forbidden romance novel from its hiding place beneath my mattress, the one Reggie had deemed unworthy of my attention. He called it a foolish indulgence, a fantasy that would only bring disappointment and heartache. But I knew the truth behind his objections: he wanted to dictate everything, what I read, what I thought, what I felt. This book was my escape, my only refuge from the crushing monotony of my life. I wouldn’t let him take that from me. He could control my world, but he would never take my dreams.
The memory of the first time he’d caught me reading one of these books came flooding back. His eyes had flashed with rage as he snatched it from my hands, treating it like a venomous snake. He justified his actions as “protecting me” from lies that could lead me astray. What he was really afraid of, though, was losing control. Losing me to a world where I wasn’t his.
As I sank deeper into the pages, a nagging thought whispered that maybe Reggie had a point about the elusiveness of perfect love. Still, I let myself indulge in a little daydreaming, allowing the fantasy to take hold. In that world, love was pure, untainted—something real, something true. For a moment, I surrendered completely to the words, letting them sweep me away into the sweet, intoxicating haze of romance.