Carol protested weakly, but I ignored her and removed the latch plate with shaking hands. When the door finally swung inward, the sight that greeted me made the entire situation snap into horrifying focus.
The space beyond the wall was not an unfinished partition. It was a compact studio apartment built within my home. A small kitchenette lined one wall with a humming mini refrigerator, a microwave, a stainless steel sink, and cabinets stocked with dishes. A twin bed stood against the far corner beside a lamp and a folded blanket. It was fully functional and clearly inhabited.
A young woman stood near the counter holding a ceramic mug, her eyes wide with fear. She was not a contractor or a relative. She was living there.
Carol staggered back, her hand flying to her mouth. “Derek,” she whispered, “who is that?”
The woman looked at Derek with confusion and panic. “You said she knew,” she murmured.
I felt every sound in the room amplify. “Knew what?”
Derek’s voice cracked. “It is not what you think.”
The woman swallowed hard. “My name is Alyssa,” she said softly. “I am Derek’s girlfriend.”
The word echoed in my head. Girlfriend.