Little Deceptions

The front door clicks open and her husband steps inside. Sabrina's in the closet, wrists lashed behind her back, ankles crossed and cinched tight. A rough crotch rope digs into her jeans and splits her every time she shifts. Black gag, messy brown hair plastered to her cheek. He drops his keys when he sees her. She watches his face change, waits for the panic, then starts talking the second he yanks the cloth from her mouth. "Came in with a mask on. Shoved me in here, made me watch while he tore through the drawers. Said he'd hurt me if I screamed." Every word lands soft, practiced. While he works the knots around her wrists she feels the beard graze her neck, warm and scratchy, and she bites back the shiver. He pulls the crotch rope free last, slow, and she exhales like it was only fear leaving her body. She keeps her eyes on the open closet door, counting the seconds until he believes every lie she just fed him. Outside, somewhere down the street, the real robber is already counting the cash they split.