As it always does when you have to be somewhere you don't want to be, time moved way too quickly. The movie was over in no time and Eli, Ronnie, and I said our goodbyes with the hint of reluctance that we always did. Although, Eli did sneak in a small "good luck" wink when Ronnie wasn't looking.

Honestly, I don't know why he bothered. I knew Eli. He told Ronnie everything. There wasn't a single doubt in my mind that Ronnie would know everything that happened by my next visit. Hell, I'd be surprised if I made it to the parking garage before he told him.

Still, as I got in my car, what Eli had warned me about did pop back into my mind. I pulled out my phone and turned off my message notifications. I also spent an inordinate amount of time staring at Mason's number.

It probably wasn't safe to keep the paper he'd given me earlier. After all, when hasn't a paper trail caused a problem? But I worried about only having the number in my phone. I didn't trust my memory enough to try to remember it on my own and Phil would get suspicious if he ever noticed that I had saved an unlisted number.

The obvious solution, of course, was to save him as a fake name. But that's where I ran into trouble. What should I save it as?

Phil knew everybody in the neighborhood for "networking" purposes, so I couldn't lie and say it was a neighbor without him being able to check. I didn't have any family members aside from Eli so I couldn't say it was a relative. I already had Ronnie's number saved and I didn't have any other "friends" to speak of. Besides, if I lied about having a new friend, he'd probably insist on meeting them. After all, he'd worked too hard on his perfect little image to have it all ruined by me choosing a "bad friend."

Which left me stuck. What the hell could I save him as? God, was my life really so empty and pathetic that I didn't have anything outside of my house and this facility?

Inspiration struck me at once. I hurriedly typed the name in my phone: Patty.

Of course, this facility being what it was, it needed to have staff on hand 24/7. Obviously, for both legal and ethical reasons, they couldn't expect their nurses to work those kinds of hours, so every patient had a team of two nurses. One who handled a double shift of sixteen hours during the day, and one who handled the eight-hour night shift.

Patty was Eli's night nurse. A nice enough older lady, but one whom I never really needed to interact with much. She had my number for emergency purposes, of course, but I'd never really had a reason to add her number to my phone. Until now.

It was a good cover. If Phil ever bothered to ask about the number, then I could explain the Patty situation. It would be easy enough for him to double-check and confirm with the facility about her being Eli's nurse, and if he asked why I suddenly added it, I could just explain it as I was getting more concerned about Eli's condition.

It was amazing the way adrenaline raced through my body just by typing a name into my phone. Was this excitement the "fear of getting caught" that people always talked about? I never understood it before. After all, what fun could come out of doing something dangerous or stupid?

But, God, I got it now. I wondered if Mason felt the same way about it that I did.

I bit my lip as he suddenly came to mind again. Right, didn't Eli mention something about me receiving a message Phil definitely shouldn't see? I wasn't sure what that was exactly but based on that description it had to be something good.

I was about to open my messages when a sudden, loud car horn terrified me back to reality. My phone practically jumped out of my hands, landing on the passenger seat. My heart was racing again, but not in a fun way this time. I took a deep breath to calm myself.

Right. The parking garage. Home. I needed to start heading back now. The last thing I wanted was to be late and make Phil even more irritable than he already was.

I let out a heavy sigh as I started up the car. I glanced over at my phone with a look of longing.

"Later, Maggie. Later," I mumbled to myself, pulling out of my parking spot.

Again, the anticipation helped to make my long, dreadful drive home much more enjoyable. I felt like I'd just barely started to contemplate everything that might be waiting for me when I suddenly turned onto my street.

As always, a mixture of dread and relief filled my body upon returning home. I was home again. Good. But I was home again with Phil. Bad. I let out a heavy sigh before finally forcing myself to get out of the car. The walk to my front door felt both too long and too short.

Of course, I'd barely been in the house two seconds when Phil met me with his standard greeting. "Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to come home."

I thought about responding with some snarky remarks of my own, but honestly, I didn't want to. I didn't have the energy. I was tired. Both physically and mentally. I just wanted to make this damn dinner, eat, and go to bed. And, of course, find time to take a peek at whatever little treat Mason had left for me.

Which I had a better chance of doing if Phil was in a good mood. With that in mind, I put on my best fake smile as I spoke to him cheerfully.

"I know, I'm sorry I'm late. Eli wanted to watch a movie and it ended a little later than we thought. But I'm here now. What would you like for dinner, Dear?"

Phil looked surprised. I guess he hadn't expected such a drastic character shift between who I'd been this morning and who I was now. Not that he'd complain. After all, why would he? I was playing his favorite character now: Mrs. Henderson.

Mrs. Henderson was a personality I'd created long ago out of necessity. The perfect replica of every 1960s television housewife. She was cheerful, friendly, accommodating, and, most importantly to Phil, submissive.

She was the kind of wife he dreamed about. The one who would meet him at the end of the day with a smile and a kiss on the cheek as she took his briefcase. The one who already had a hot dinner waiting for him the second he stepped through the door and would happily grab him a cold beer to wash it down with. The "How was your day at the office? Why don't you relax in front of the TV while I clean up? Do you need me to get you anything?" wife that he always wanted.

She was fake, of course. I don't think even Phil was delusional enough to think for a second that I'd really flipped the switch like that. But, honestly, he didn't care. Fake or not, he got the wife he wanted for a few hours. Why wouldn't he take advantage of it while he could? Especially since her appearances had been more and more rare lately.

He cleared his throat and gave a vague shrug. "Umm, whatever you make is fine, just don't take too long. I'm getting hungry."

"Of course. I'll whip something up for you real quick," I chirped, walking over and kissing his cheek. "Why don't you go relax in front of the TV while you wait? Would you like a drink?"

"Beer?"

He said it more like a question than a statement. I smiled and gave him a small nod.

"No problem. I'll bring it out in a second, just let me get dinner started."

And, just like that, he was gone. No arguments, no follow-up questions. He actually disappeared into the living room and left me to my own devices. Such was the power of Mrs. Henderson.

However, like all great powers, she came at a cost. Mostly, my mental health. As I finally stepped into the kitchen, I let out the hugest sigh, leaning against the wall for support. God, putting on that cheery persona was draining as hell. I shook my head as I walked over to the refrigerator, looking for something low-maintenance to cook.

I settled on spaghetti and salad. Quick, simple, and something I could easily spin into a narrative so he would be satisfied with it. While I got the pasta boiling, I grabbed that beer from the fridge and walked it out to the living room. Phil was already sitting on the sofa with his back to the entrance, watching TV. I took a deep breath and brought the smile back to my face as I walked over to him.

"Special delivery," I said, handing him the bottle. "Is there anything else I can get for you, Dear?"

"When's dinner?" he asked, taking a drink.

"Not too long now, don't worry. You rest up. I'll call you when it's ready."

He gave a small nod but otherwise didn't respond. I somehow managed to repress the urge to roll my eyes until I finally made it back to the kitchen. I shook my head.

"Almost there, Maggie. Just a little longer," I muttered to myself.

Of course, spaghetti and salad being what they are, dinner didn't take very long to slap together. I think barely half an hour had passed by the time I started plating things up. I set everything up on the table nice and neat before finally going to get Phil. He was still in the exact same place that I'd left him.

"Dinner's ready," I called sweetly.

He gave a vague grunt before standing up and following me to the kitchen. He sat at the table and glanced down at his plate.

"Spaghetti, huh?" he commented, a slight condescension in his voice.

"Of course! After all, you'll need your energy tomorrow," I explained. "What better to help with that than a nice hearty plate of pasta? I know how hard your job can be and I certainly don't want you crashing by midday."

A weak excuse, but one he bought enough not to press it any further. Again, he just grunted vaguely as he started eating. Well, the disarming stage of the "Mrs. Henderson" plan seemed to be going well. Now, for phase two.

"Oh, would you like to have a drink with dinner?" I asked as if I'd suddenly just remembered it.

"Umm... I probably shouldn't," he muttered. "I had a few before you got home too, and I don't want to push it.

"Oh, nonsense," I insisted, getting up and grabbing him one anyway. "You work so hard all week. You deserve to have a couple drinks on your day off. After all, it's not like you're chugging down shots or anything. It's just a few beers."

I set the beer in front of him, smiling. If there was one thing Phil loved, it was having his ego stroked. And the whole "my poor, hard-working provider" pity act really ticked his boxes.

He nodded along with what I said, a slight smile on his face. "You know what? You're right. I've earned this. A couple more beers won't hurt anything."

He grabbed the beer and took a drink. I gave him another sweet smile as I went back to my chair and started eating.

Phil wasn't exactly a lightweight when it came to drinking. It would take more than a handful of beers to get him drunk. However, I wasn't aiming for blackout drunk. I didn't need to. All I needed was to get him tipsy.

Phil was a sleepy drinker. A few glasses of wine or some beers and he was usually cozy, fuzzy feeling, and ready to head straight to bed. Which is exactly what I needed tonight.

Sure enough, no sooner had he cleared his plate and taken that last gulp of beer than a big yawn exited his mouth. I reached out and stroked his hair as I started to clear the table.

"Poor thing, you look exhausted. Why don't you head to bed? I'll be there after I finish cleaning up."

Again, he grunted vaguely, giving a small nod. I walked the dishes over to the sink, smiling to myself as I heard the scrape of his chair against the floor.

I took my time gathering up the dishes and washing them. The longer I waited, the more likely he would just pass out in bed without me.

I scrubbed the pot until it sparkled, the plates were so squeaky clean that I could see my reflection in them. Hell, I even took the extra time to wipe down the stove and countertop just to kill a few more minutes.

When it felt like enough time had passed, I made my way back into the hallway. Caution being the name of the game though, I still made sure to take an extra peek around for Phil before grabbing my phone and shoving it into my pocket.

Now came the hard part. Actually going into the bedroom.

Dread filled me at the thought. Mostly the dread of what would very likely be on the other side of the door when I opened it. Still, I couldn't exactly spend all night standing out here either. I took a deep breath to steel my nerves as I pushed open the door.

As I expected, Phil was lying naked across the bed, waiting for me with what I'm sure he assumed was a "come hither" look. He smiled at me, grabbing his hard member.

"Hey, look who's here. Saved a seat for you."

I forced out a small giggle at his joke. "Phil, stop. You're terrible. What are you doing?"

"Thought we might have a little bit of fun before bed," he said, winking.

I had to repress a sigh. Unfortunately, this was a common side effect of "tipsy Phil." I had absolutely zero plans to fuck him tonight, of course, but saying that outright would only bring back his typical, argumentative personality. Luckily, this wasn't my first rodeo with tipsy Phil.

"Alright, I think I can manage that. Just let me take a shower first. I stink like traffic and hospital disinfectant," I explained.

"Don't keep us waiting too long," he teased.

Another forced giggle as I made my way to the bathroom. The second the door was closed my entire body let out a shiver of disgust. I shook my head as if that would somehow shake the image out of it.

I locked the door just in case he got any "ideas" about joining me and turned on the shower. There, that should keep him out of my hair for a while. I stripped down and grabbed my phone, sitting on the edge of the bathroom counter.

Finally. Finally. I bit my lip, smiling as I looked down at my phone. I'd only known about this message for a few hours, but I already felt like I'd been waiting an eternity to look at it. And I wasn't going to wait one more second.

Hands trembling, heart racing with excitement, I unlocked the phone and opened his message.