Malcolm's And Stacy Confrontation
Malcolm finally made home and couldn’t wait to take him a nice hot shower. He stood in front of the sink, water dripping from his hair onto the bathroom floor. The steam was all around him, cocooning him in a hazy warmth. He'd stepped out of the shower, drying himself seeking quietness’s from a long day at work filled with chaos of the day.
As he was about to sit down and kick back in his recliner there was a pounding on the front door echoing through the house, he knew that the rest he wanted wasn’t going to happen.
Who is it? Malcolm said with authority.
"Malcolm!" Stacy's voice was a hurricane, tearing through the quietness of his home. "Open this damn door!"
He hesitated, towel wrapped around his waist. Stacy. The woman he'd once loved, now is a woman on a rampage. How had it come to this?
He walked to the door, trying to keep his composure. The wood vibrated under her fists. "Malcolm, I know you're in there! Don't you dare ignore me!"
He twisted the lock, pulling the door open. There she stood, black hair wild, eyes aflame. Stacy's anger was a living thing, pulsing between them.
"What the hell, Stacy?" His voice was a rasp. "Why did you—"
"Who is she?" Her words were knives. "Who's the other woman?"
Malcolm blinked. "Other woman? Stacy, there—"
"Don't lie to me!" She pushed past him, storming into the living room. "I saw the texts, Malcolm. The late nights, the secrecy. You think I'm blind?"
He followed her, towel slipping dangerously low. "Stacy, it's not—"
She quickly turned, eyes narrowing. "Not what? Not what it looks like? Explain, Malcolm. Explain I shouldn’t have to when nothing is going on.” Malcolm replied.
He continue, "It's work, Stacy. The damn financial reports, the deadlines on short notice. I've been busy ."
Her laughter was bitter. "Work? That's your excuse? You think I'm that crazy don’t you?"
Malcolm's patience snapped. "I turned off my phone to focus, to get all this damn work done and hope I survive this godforsaken Wednesday. I'm not cheating, Stacy. I'm drowning in work financial reports dating back two months ago."
She scoffed, then walked up Malcolm and looked him in face. "And the voicemails? The silence?"
"I needed space." "I needed—"
"You needed her." Stacy's voice changed . "I knew you're with someone else."
"No!" The word exploded from him. "Stacy, I—"
But she was already at the window, staring at the shattered glass. "Your ugly car. Your secret life."
"It's not—"
"Save it." She turned, with an evil stare. "I'm done, Malcolm. Done with your lies, your damn midweek meltdowns. You want space? Fine. You've got it."
And then like that she was gone, slamming the door behind her. As he listened to her car engine riven. Malcom goes after her and tries to stop her and noticed he had brick in car window.
“Oh hell no!” Malcolm says in anger.
Stacy speeds off like she was driving in the Indy 500.
Malcolm walks to his car and gets the brick out and takes it inside. Then sat down sank on the couch, lifting a heavy burden off his shoulders. The house felt emptier, colder. He'd never intended to end like this. Not the broken window, not the accusations.
Malcolm wondered if he'd ever find peace. Maybe he'd turn off his phone for a few hours, and wish he could escape to a cabin in the woods. Or maybe he'd chase after Stacy, explaining until his voice gave out.
But for now, he sat there, looking out the door and saying , broken glass scattered like lost promises.