Chapter 4 - The Vulture at the Door
Lucy didn't invite her in. She didn't look at the bakery bag. She simply stared at Valerie with the detached curiosity of a scientist examining a specimen under a microscope.
"You've got a lot of nerve coming here, Valerie," Lucy said, her voice quiet, steady, and entirely devoid of the anger Valerie was clearly expecting.
Valerie’s smile faltered, her aristocratic facade slipping for a fraction of a second before she quickly reassembled it, adopting a wounded, martyred expression. "I don't know what you mean, Lucy. I know things are tense between you and Alex, but we went through a near-death experience together. I was terrified down there. We all were."
"You weren't just terrified," Lucy said, stepping slightly forward into the doorway, forcing Valerie to take another step back. "You were calculating. You’ve been calculating since the day you moved back from London and suddenly forgot how to live your life without leaning on a married firefighter."
Valerie’s eyes flashed with a sudden, sharp venom, the sweet-neighbor act cracking completely. "If you had been paying attention to your husband instead of obsessing over your charts, maybe he wouldn't have had to look elsewhere for warmth. Alex is suffocating in this marriage, Lucy. He has been for a long time. The elevator just made him realize who he actually wants to hold when the world is ending."
"Is that right?" Lucy tilt her head, a cold smile touching her lips. "Then why is he still calling my phone every twenty minutes begging me to come back? Why is he sitting outside my lawyer's office crying about his pension and his reputation?"
Valerie’s face drained of color. "He... he wouldn't."
"He’s a coward, Valerie," Lucy said smoothly. "He loves his stability, his house, his station badge, and his paycheck much more than he loves either of us. He likes you because you require maintenance, and he likes me because I require nothing. But the moment things got real down in that shaft—the moment he had to choose between keeping up appearances or grabbing his shiny new toy—he made his choice. And now, he gets to live with the consequences."
"You're pathetic," Valerie hissed, dropping the polite pretense entirely. "You think you're so noble with your baby bump and your moral high ground. He’s going to divorce you, take half of everything, and leave you broke with a newborn."
"Try me," Lucy whispered.
Before Valerie could retort, the elevator at the end of the apartment hallway chimed, and heavy boots echoed against the tile floor.
Alex rounded the corner, breathless, his face dark with panic as he tracked Valerie down the hall. When he saw Lucy standing in the doorway with Valerie cornered against the wall, he stopped dead in his tracks.
"Valerie? What the hell are you doing here?" Alex shouted, his voice bouncing off the apartment walls.
"Your wife is threatening me, Alex!" Valerie whined instantly, pivoting seamlessly back into the damsel-in-distress role that Alex found so irresistible. "I just came to drop off food, and she’s standing here acting like a lunatic!"
Alex looked at Valerie, then looked at Lucy. For a second, the old reflex kicked in—the instinct to rush to Valerie's defense, to smooth things over, to manage the crisis. He took a step forward, his hand raised. "Lucy, come on. Don't take this out on her. This is between you and me."
"It's not between you and me anymore, Alex," Lucy said, her voice ringing out clear and absolute. She reached out, tapped the metal doorframe, and looked him dead in the eye. "The divorce papers were filed two hours ago. Serve him his copy on your way out, Valerie. You earned him."
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With a soft, definitive click, Lucy swung the apartment door shut and threw the deadbolt.
On the other side of the door, muffled shouts and a furious argument erupted between the firefighter and his mistress. Lucy didn't flinch. She pressed her hands gently against her belly, felt a soft, reassuring kick from her daughter, and walked back into the quiet, safe light of her new kitchen.
