My Husband Let His Wife Push Me From the Balcony

The doctors said Barrett was cured on a Tuesday. I cried in the hospital hallway. I thought the waiting was over.

Three weeks later, I was carrying my own suitcase up to the third floor.

The brownstone on East Seventy-Fourth Street was mine, in every way but the deed. I drew the plans in our junior year at Columbia. I picked the oak floors. I chose the long walnut dinner table that seated twelve, because Barrett said he wanted a big family one day. I just never thought it would be someone else's.

Giselle Romero slept in the master bedroom now. Her son, Noah, slept in the nursery I had painted soft gray. At dinner, she sat at the head of my table in a pale pink dress. She smiled at the staff like a queen being kind to her people.

I found out about the household roster by accident. Mrs. Pell, the housekeeper, was holding a clipboard. My name used to be at the top. Now it wasn't there at all.

"Ms. Collins," she said, not meeting my eyes. "Mrs. Harrison asked that all requests go through her."

Mrs. Harrison. A blessing bride from a private ceremony. Old Hezekiah Harrison had believed a stranger's luck could save his grandson. The whole thing was supposed to last until Barrett got better.

Barrett got better.

That night, I knocked on his study door. He was behind the desk, the lamp throwing yellow light on his tired face. He looked up, then looked at his laptop again.

"Em. It's late."

"You said six months." My voice came out calm. I was proud of that. "You said once you were well, she'd leave. You said it in this room."

He rubbed his temples with two fingers. He always did that when he didn't want to answer.

"Just a little longer."

"How long is a little?"

"She has a baby, Emory. My baby. I can't throw them out."

"I didn't ask you to throw anyone out. I asked you to keep your word."

"I owe her this much." He finally looked at me. His eyes were red. "She stood by me when I was dying."

"So did I." I took a breath. "I stood outside the chapel while you married her. Remember?"

He flinched. Then he got up and came around the desk. He reached for my hand. I let him take it, and I hated myself for that.

"You know I love only you," he said softly.

I turned my grandmother's emerald bracelet on my wrist. Once. Twice. The cool stones felt like the only real thing in the room.

"Then why am I on the third floor?"

He let go of my hand. He didn't answer.

I stood in the doorway for a long time after he sat back down. The hallway behind me smelled like fresh paint. Someone had changed the color. I didn't remember being asked.

Giselle moved fast after that.

My books disappeared from the library shelves. My framed sketches of the house were taken down from the stairwell. When I asked, a maid named Rosa whispered, "Baby-proofing, ma'am. Mrs. Harrison's orders." The sketches were on paper. They were hung six feet off the ground. Noah couldn't even crawl yet.

On Sunday, Hezekiah came for lunch. I heard his gold-topped cane on the marble before I saw him. Tap. Tap. Tap. Like a judge's gavel.

I was walking past the parlor when I heard Giselle's voice. It was soft and shaky, the way a little girl sounds before she cries.

"I don't want to cause trouble, Grandfather. Really. It's just… Noah gets so fussy when she's around. Babies feel tension. The doctor said stability matters so much at this age."

Through the gap in the door, I saw her hand resting on her thigh. Her index finger tapped against it. Uneven. Quick, slow, quick.

"Barrett," Hezekiah said. His voice was low and flat. "Is this true?"

I waited. I held my breath and waited for Barrett to say my name like it still meant something.

"I'll handle it," Barrett said.

That was all.

Hezekiah's cane hit the floor once. Hard. "See that you do."

I walked away before anyone saw me. My legs felt hollow.

At one in the morning, I sat on the narrow bed in the guest room. The radiator clanked. Rain ticked against the small window. I called my father.

"Sweetheart?" Dad's voice was thick with sleep. Then it sharpened. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to hear you."

He was quiet. Melvin Collins built half the skyline in Seattle by listening for what people didn't say.

"Emory. Is she still in that house?"

I pressed my lips together.

"Come home," he said gently. "Your mother misses you. I miss you. There are good men here. Men who'd never make you sleep in the attic of your own life."

"It's not an attic."

"Isn't it?"

I didn't answer. My throat was too tight.

"He's already chosen, honey," Dad said. "You're the only one who hasn't."

"I just need more time."

He sighed. It was a heavy sound, a father's sound. "Time isn't on your side in that house. Promise me you'll call if anything happens."

"Nothing's going to happen."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

I set the phone face-down on the blanket. I lay back and stared at the ceiling. There was a water stain shaped like a fist in the corner. I had never noticed it in the blueprints. I had never planned to sleep in this room.

Downstairs, a door opened. I heard Giselle laugh. Then Barrett's voice, low and warm, the voice he used to save for me.

I turned the bracelet on my wrist until the stones grew warm.

I had built every room in this house.

I just hadn't built a single one for myself.