a car idles in the driveway, the chauffeur beside it standing attentively, waiting to open the passenger door. with a tight-lipped smile, elisa allows her husband one last kiss on her cheek before he sets off down the driveway. perhaps it’s for the best that he’s away for the weekend --- the solitude will give her time to ... what ? figure out what’s wrong with her ? her psychiatrist’s business card is on her desk, but she hasn’t called. reason insists that it must be madness, but somewhere in the dark softness of her heart she knows it isn’t.
she stands in the doorway for a moment longer, lingering alongside the scent of anton’s cologne until his car disappears from view. she turns to retreat, blinks once, and is no longer in her airy, sunlit foyer; blinks twice, and she’s home once more, yet in the hall stands a stranger. they’re pointedly out of place --- the light seems to bend around them strangely, as though it does not touch them. somehow, distantly, she recognizes their face. “oh, díos, no.” a tense breath escapes her, fingers pressed to her forehead as her eyes squeeze shut. “this is not happening, i am not going crazy, i do NOT have time for this,” she insists, opening her eyes to find herself still not alone. “---what ?” she probes, defensive, embarrassment rises pink in her cheeks.