"Natalie, get back," Andrew said. "I've seen obsessed fans like this. Only the police can handle it."
He'd barely finished when a uniformed, gray-haired building manager appeared at the door, walkie-talkie in hand, expression stern. "What's going on here? We've gotten complaints fromseveral neighbors about loud arguing, and someone said the police were being called? Who's the tenant here?"
"I am," I said immediately. "I'm Natalie Green, the renter of this apartment."
The manager looked at me, then at the two men clearly in a standoff. "And these two gentlemen? What's your relationship with them?"
"This is a misunderstanding." I pointed at Andrew. "This is my friend. He came to drop something off."
Then I looked at Richard. "This is..."
"A man who broke in illegally." Andrew cut in, addressing the manager. "Please make him leave."
"Natalie is my wife," Richard said, tone casual. "I'm here to see my wife. What's the problem?"
Andrew froze. He glanced at me, then sneered at Richard. "Are you dreaming, sir? I've known Natalie for two months. She's single. I suggest you leave now, or when the cops get here, trespassing alone will be enough to land you in a cell."
The manager heard "cops" and looked back and forth helplessly, finally addressing Richard. "Sir, from what I can see, this gentleman is the tenant's friend. You barging in really isn't appropriate, and the police have already been called, so maybe you should..."
Richard looked like he'd heard a joke. "Fine. Let's wait for the police."
They arrived faster than expected. Two uniformed officers walked down the narrow hallway, asking questions. Andrew immediately stepped forward, rapid-fire explaining how rudely Richard had forced his way in. Richard stood silent the whole time, like a cold statue, eyes heavy as they watched me.
Then one of the older officers shone his flashlight on Richard's face and suddenly froze. He squinted, looked more carefully, his expression changing. He quickly approachedRichard, his manner becoming respectful, even nervous. "Mr. Winston? Is that you? Richard Winston?"
"It is."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Winston. I didn't realize it was you. This is?" The older cop asked tentatively, gaze moving between me, Andrew, and Richard.
"A family misunderstanding. Sorry to waste your time." Richard said coolly.
"No trouble at all!" The cop said immediately, using his eyes to silence his younger partner who looked ready to speak. He turned to us, almost apologetically. "Ma'am, sir, seems like a misunderstanding. We can't get too involved in private matters. Work it out yourselves." With that, he nodded at Richard, then pulled his confused colleague away. Just left.
Andrew looked at the door in disbelief, then at Richard, then at me, his face full of question marks.
The manager also realized Richard was someone even the police didn't dare offend. He coughed awkwardly and quickly slipped away, too.
"Natalie, who the hell is he?" Even Andrew could tell this man's background was way beyond his imagination. "What's between you two? He's your husband?"
"He's my ex-husband. We're divorced." I closed my eyes tiredly, then opened them, looking at him pleadingly. "Andrew, give me some time to handle this myself, okay? I'll explain everything later. I promise."
Andrew looked at me, struggled for a moment, then finally glared hard at Richard and said quietly to me, "You have my number. If anything happens, call me anytime."
Andrew left. The living room held only Richard and me.
Silence crept back in, more dangerous than before. The nausea and emotional upheaval made my vision swim. I leaned against the wall to stay upright.
Richard slowly turned to face me. "Explain."
"Everything you've been doing these two months. And..." He almost ground out the last words. "That kid just now."
"I don't need to explain anything to you," I said. "We're divorced. You have no right to barge into my home, no right to interrogate me, and no right to be rude to my friends."
"Friends." Richard chewed on the word, letting out a derisive laugh. "Friends bring thoughtful care packages to your door in the middle of the night? Look at you like that?"
He moved closer, voice dropping. "Natalie, don't take me for a fool. You've had your fun these two months. This childish rebellion is over. Now go pack your things and come back with me. Immediately."
"I'm not going back!" I shouted, two months of suppressed emotion—hurt, anger, fear, and pregnancy hormones—erupting like a volcano. "Who the hell do you think you are? God? You can just decide my life? Show up whenever, order me around, treat me like your property? I'm done, Richard! Done with your control, your arrogance, done being that pretty, quiet Mrs. Winston who never makes mistakes! I'm free now! And you, right now, immediately, get out of my apartment!"
