A man answered immediately. “This is Marcus. Lily’s boyfriend.”
His voice was cold.
“Oh,” I said carefully. “How’s Lily doing?”
He ignored the question.
“You stayed with her the whole night?”
Something in his tone made my stomach tighten.
“Yeah. At the hospital.”
“You didn’t leave?”
“No,” I answered slowly. “She was scared.”
Silence.
Then he asked, “So it was just you two there?”
The accusation hanging beneath the words was impossible to miss.
I sat up straighter.
“Listen,” I said firmly, “your girlfriend needed medical help. That’s all this was.”
Another long pause.
Then he muttered, “Right,” before hanging up abruptly.
I stared at the phone for several seconds afterward.
And for the first time, I began to wonder what things were really like inside that apartment next door.
Over the next few weeks, I noticed little things I hadn’t paid attention to before.
Lily stopped making eye contact in the hallway.
Marcus always seemed angry.
Sometimes we heard shouting through the walls late at night.
Once, I saw Lily outside wearing sunglasses even though it was cloudy.
I didn’t ask questions. I wasn’t sure it was my place.
