#ididn'tseethatcoming

[chillingchronicles]

Chapter 5 A Woman's Scorn

It was 10:00 a.m. I had to hurry to Mr. Johnson’s house to babysit. My heart warmed at the thought of seeing baby John and his sweet, ocean-blue eyes. With my key to the Johnsons' back door, I let myself in, eager to see John’s big smile. As I inserted the key, the door swung open unexpectedly. Mr. Johnson stood there, his face flushed and eyes darting.

“Hey, Vanessa, I’m in a rush. I left extra cash on the counter. I’ll be gone for the weekend. Can you stay?” he asked urgently.

“I don’t mind. I could stay with baby John,” I assured him.

Relief washed over his face. “Wonderful. John adores you. If anything happens, call me or Sophia.” Without looking back, he called, “Bye, John. I adore you, son.”

Mr. Johnson dashed out. I picked up John and walked to the window. I watched as he hurriedly stuffed a bag into a red car. The way he moved, trying to avoid something, was frantic. When the car backed out, I strained to see who was driving. My heart stopped—it was Mrs. Delagarza. What the hell?

John jumped in my arms. “Oops, sorry, John,” I murmured.

Five minutes later, Sophia pulled up, her car screeching to a halt. She stormed through the door, her face a mask of fury and her eyes red and puffy from crying. I had never seen her like this before—usually so composed, now unraveling before me.

“Vanessa,” she panted, “where is he?”

“Mr. Johnson?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Yes, of course!” she snapped, her voice sharp and barely contained.

“He said he was going on a weekend trip,” I replied softly, the tension in the room palpable.

Sophia’s eyes darted around the room, her hands trembling. “His phone’s going to voicemail,” she said, her voice breaking. “Did you see what kind of car he left in?”

“A red one,” I managed to say.

Sophia’s face twisted into a bitter smile. “I just know he’s cheating on me,” she hissed. “A woman knows. The signs are always there—the late nights, the secretive calls. It starts with fewer conversations, then he becomes distant, like you’re a stranger in your own home.”

Her voice cracked, and for a moment, she seemed on the verge of collapse under the weight of her emotions. Her breath came in shuddering gasps, her face etched with pain. I could see the storm inside her—hurt, anger, betrayal, all fighting for dominance. Her eyes brimmed with tears, her jaw clenched tight.

“Vanessa, I’m going out,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “I need to clear my head. Can you stay with John?”

“Yes, of course. When will you be back?” I asked, trying to offer some semblance of calm.

“I don’t know.” Her voice was distant, as if she was already somewhere else. She turned and walked out, her shoulders stiff and her movements sharp, like each step was a struggle. I could feel her rage lingering in the room, heavy and suffocating.

I looked at John, who was laughing and reaching into the air. His eyes sparkled with innocence. Was it Dorris playing with him? She always enjoyed making him laugh. But then John started to cry. I grabbed the keys, put him in the stroller, and headed to the car. It might be best to get out of the house.

As I opened the car door, a wave of nostalgia hit me. I remembered Dorris, Susane, and Sara—the mischievous twins. We had so many wild times, from partying without permission to running from cops. I should visit Susane and Sara after the weekend. I could tell them about the bridge. But first, I need to find my next offering.