The Garage Held His Secrets

-limits. He called it his "creative space," but it was my house, boug

me to our bed at night, chaining me up like an animal so

ace, and threatened to take half my house in a divorce. He was

s. It was Adam and his fugitive brother-a man who had killed an entir

es, I added a special ingredient-a powerful laxative, enough to send him straight to the emergency ro

pte

n Moo

I wasn' t allowed in our garage, I laug

He stood in the doorway connecting the kitchen to the garage, his body physically blocking my path.

r mocking me. This wasn' t just a garage. It was part of my house. The house I bought with the inheritance my grandmother left me, every last pen

uburban home with its manic

ill I' d perfected as a financial analyst dealing with vola

No

n slightly. This wasn' t the charismatic, free-spirited musician I' d married six months ago. The man who had wooed me wi

?" I asked, my voice risi

ll get you the shears later. When I' m

nst the cool wood. "Later? When will th

was a miracle, turned cold. "Don' t push me, Alison. You have t

me. Ever. A knot of ice formed in my stomach, chilling the

atic mind took over, analyzing the situation. A direct confrontation had failed. Escalation would likely lead to

deliberate choice. "Talk to me. What' s going on? You

Look, baby, I' m sorry I snapped. It' s just... I' m on the verge of something big. A whole new sound. It' s delicate. I c

tistic ambitions as a weapon against me now. The urge t

want to understand. Why the sudden lockdown? It' s my house too, Adam. I

d, a micro-expression of something

construction. Creatively. The equipment is sensitive. The acoustics have to

raced against the frame. A casual posture that was anyt

ain?" I pressed, needing to hear him say it again

ersuasive tone he used when he was trying to win an argument he knew he was losing.

o with music. Weeks? For what? To set up some speakers and a mixing b

t cruel, dismissive curse. "You have the whole damn house." As i

ok, what I said before... I didn' t mean it like that. You know I don' t.

od artist. It was a role he played well, but

him like this. He would only build his w

of the sheets, sent a jolt of anxiety through me. The silence from Adam' s side of the bed was j

ho mapped out her life in spreadsheets, was completely captivated. He told me I was his muse, that my steady, logical mind grounded his chaotic creativity. He said

I th

o my mind. Had he seen me, or had he seen my house? My fin

ess than a dozen times. He always had an excuse. He was too deep in a melody, his mind was elsewhere, he wasn' t feeling well.

feel connected to him, to the man I thought I married. I

m with a cattle prod. He flinched away from my to

y hand frozen in the air

his back to me. "Don' t. Pl

visceral repulsion. And in that moment, in the sterile glow of the mo

ch me. It was that he didn' t wa

rry me, Adam? If you can' t even stand for me to touch you,

, a promise whispered in the dark that it would get better once

trained. "I have issues. I' m working

drink, his hand shaking slightly. He didn' t turn to face me. H

tatement. I felt contaminated, as if m

thought of all I had done for him. I paid all the bills so he could focus on his "art." I bought him a new guitar for our one-month an

, my money, my heart. And in return, I was given a l

otional distance, the lies-it

ga

to him than his wife. More important than our m