Gifts and Obsession

All extremes of feeling are allied with madness”-Viginia Woolf, Orlando

“I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary”

-Margret Atwood

It is not inequality which is the real misfortune, it is dependence

-Voltaire

Chapter 1

LOVE THY PARTNER

The sharp, blaring sound of my alarm jolts me awake. Groaning, I roll over, fumbling to silence it, my hand slamming down on the snooze button. I glance sideways at Alex, my husband, still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Of course, he gets to keep sleeping.

“Guess that means I’m on breakfast duty,” I mutter to myself, dragging my body out of bed. The cold floor sends a shiver up my spine as I shuffle into the kitchen, running a hand over my face in an attempt to brush away the fog of sleep.

“Okay, coffee first. Then eggs,” I say under my breath, moving on autopilot. I grab eggs from the fridge, a frying pan from the cabinet, and set them on the counter. The coffee machine whirs to life with the press of a button, the familiar aroma already doing more to wake me than the alarm ever could.

Yawning, I crack four eggs into the pan, the sizzle filling the quiet morning air. I toss a few slices of bread into the toaster, leaning heavily against the counter as the eggs cook.

Arms slide around my waist from behind, warm and familiar. I feel the gentle press of a kiss against my neck, his stubble tickling my skin. “Morning,” Alex murmurs sleepily.

I smile despite myself. “Morning. Coffee’s ready if you want some. Breakfast will be done in a minute.” He releases me with a soft grunt of acknowledgment, moving to pour himself a mug. By the time I’ve plated the eggs and toast, he’s seated at the table, sipping his coffee with half-lidded eyes.

“Do you have another late night at the office?” I ask, setting his plate down in front of him. Alex shrugs, taking a bite of toast. “Maybe. My boss likes to spring things on me at the last second. Besides it’s good to save for our future.”

“You’re working too much,” I say, trying to keep my tone light but unable to hide the edge of concern. “We both have jobs. You don’t need to push yourself so hard.” He looks up, his expression unreadable, and something flickers in his eyes—something I can’t quite place. “You know what I mean, Leah,” he says simply.

I sigh, the tension settling between us like an uninvited guest. “Alex…” I start, but the conversation is cut short by the sharp ring of his phone.

He picks it up without hesitation, glancing at the screen before answering. “Yeah?” His voice is clipped now, his tone entirely different from the man who kissed me good morning minutes ago. I busy myself clearing the counter, but I can’t help listening, my ears straining for any hint of who might be on the other end. He says little, his responses short and vague, and when he finally hangs up, I pretend not to notice the way his shoulders have tensed.

“Who was that?” I ask casually, turning to face him.

“No one important,” he says, standing abruptly. “I’ve got to get ready.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me alone in the kitchen with a plate of half-eaten eggs and the bitter taste of unease.

With nothing left to do, I finish my breakfast and start getting ready for work. By the time I’m dressed, Alex is already halfway out the door. I catch him just in time, stopping him for a quick kiss goodbye as I hand him his lunch.

“Have a good day,” I say softly.

“You too,” he replies, glancing at me briefly before heading out.

Once he’s gone, I tidy up the kitchen, load the dishwasher, and make the bed. The dull rhythm of these chores does little to distract me, but my phone buzzing pulls my attention. A text flashes across the screen—my ride’s here.

Grabbing my purse and work bag, I head outside, greeted by the sound of Jess’s cheerful voice as she leans out the driver’s side window.

“Hey, Leah! Ready for another fun-filled day of office drama?” Jess says, grinning as I slide into the passenger seat.

I laugh, clicking my seatbelt. “What did you hear this time?” I ask, unable to resist the lure of early morning gossip. Jess’s eyes light up as she puts the car in reverse, launching straight into the latest rumor. “Okay, so apparently our boss—get this—isway too friendly with the new intern. Like, late-night-meetings kind of friendly.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? I thought she’d sworn off mixing business with pleasure after the last fiasco.”

“Oh, but it gets better,” Jess says, her tone dripping with faux suspense as she eases the car onto the road. “Apparently, they’ve been spotted leaving the building together. And you know what that means...”

By the time we arrive at the office, Jess is fully in storyteller mode, narrating the tale with grand hand gestures and a voice that rises and falls like she’s performing a play. She finishes with a dramatic flourish, mimicking a gasp and fanning herself.

I shake my head, laughing as I step out of the car. “You should really consider a career in theater, Jess.”

“Eh, too much drama,” she quips, locking the car. “Now, let’s get through the day so we can get to happy hour.”

I laugh as Jess and I walk into the office, the hum of morning chatter and the clatter of keyboards already filling the air. After greeting a few coworkers and dropping my bag in the staff room, I head to my desk—only to freeze mid-step.

Sitting there, front and center, is a stunning bouquet of multicolored roses, perfectly trimmed and arranged in an ornate vase.

I blink, glancing around as if someone might step forward to claim responsibility. No one does. Slowly, I approach, marveling at the vibrant petals. They seem too perfect, like something out of a magazine.

Taking my seat, I spot a small cue card nestled beside the vase. I pick it up, flipping it over to read the back.

Hope you enjoy your gift, beautiful – from yours truly.

I purse my lips, turning the card over in my hands as I think. Why would Alex send me flowers? Our anniversary was six months ago, and my birthday was last month.

“Maybe it’s just a sweet, spur-of-the-moment gesture?” I murmur to myself.

Shrugging, I set the vase in the corner of my cubicle, where it won’t distract me, and place the card beside it. I’ll ask Alex about it tonight, I decide before diving into work.

By the time lunch rolls around, I’m so engrossed in my tasks that I jump when a hand lands on my shoulder.

“Whoa! Easy there, tiger,” Jess says, laughing at my startled expression. “Didn’t mean to scare you, but come on—it’s lunchtime, and Katie brought donuts.”

Her excitement is infectious, and I can’t help but smile as she practically drags me toward the break room. When we arrive, the room is already buzzing with chatter. Jess makes a beeline for the donut box in the corner while I head to the fridge to grab my lunch. But as I pull out my container, something catches my eye—a note taped to the lid.

Frowning, I peel it off and begin to read.

I’m glad you enjoyed my gift. You made me happy :).

My heart skips a beat as I read it again, my frown deepening. This definitely wasn’t here this morning.

Before I can dwell on it, Jess sidles up beside me, holding a maple-glazed donut in front of my face.

“You’re looking at your lunch like it insulted your mom. What’s wrong?” she asks, already munching on a chocolate-dipped donut.

I glance at her, debating whether to say anything. Finally, I force a smile and shake my head. “Oh, nothing. I just realized I’m not really feeling it. Want to eat out? My treat.”

Jess raises an eyebrow, clearly suspicious, but doesn’t press. “I won’t say no to free food,” she says cheerfully.

Shoving my lunch back into the fridge, I follow her out of the office, clutching the note tightly in my hand.

Jess chatters on about a new café she’s been dying to try, describing it as having the “cutest latte art ever.” She leads me into a place calledCozy Corner, its logo a charming illustration of two mugs clinking together.

The interior is warm and inviting, with soft lighting and cozy nooks. On one end is the counter where orders are taken, and in the far corner sits a reading area, complete with plush chairs and shelves stacked with books.

“Adorable, right?” Jess says, nudging me as we step in line to order.

I nod, taking in the details as we both decide on sandwiches and drinks. Once our food is ready, we settle into a small table by the window. As I unwrap my sandwich, the diamonds on my engagement ring catch the light, scattering reflections across the table.

I feel eyes on me. Glancing up, I catch a few people sneaking looks before quickly returning to their conversations. Self-conscious, I drop my hand into my lap, letting it rest out of sight.

Jess notices. “Why don’t you just take it off if you hate the attention so much?” she asks, already halfway through her sandwich.

I hum, glancing at the ring. It’s beautiful, but not my style—a silver band encrusted with small diamonds that frame a large emerald in the center. It feels heavy on my finger, and not just because of the stones. “Alex insisted I wear it all the time,” I say, absently fiddling with the band.

Jess raises an eyebrow, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “You know, I never really understood that. You always loved your dad’s ring—said you’d use it as your engagement ring someday. Then Alex comes along, and suddenly you’re wearingthis.” She gestures at the ring. “Doesn’t that seem… a little pushy to you?”

I shift uncomfortably, her words striking a chord I’d rather ignore. “I know Alex can be… pushy,” I admit slowly, choosing my words carefully. “But he’s very caring. His family just has more expensive tastes than mine, and this was important to him.”

Jess doesn’t look convinced. “Pushy or not, a marriage is a partnership,” she says gently. “I’m sure Alex is a great guy, but you shouldn’t have to sacrifice who you are for the relationship. You loved your dad’s ring. You always said it felt like home.”

I bite into my sandwich, chewing as I think about how to respond. The truth is, I had wanted my dad’s ring. But Alex had brushed the idea off so quickly, saying it wasn’t “appropriate” for someone in his position. I told myself it wasn’t worth arguing over, but hearing Jess say it out loud makes it harder to ignore.

“I know,” I say finally, my tone firmer than I feel. “But I’m happy with Alex. He accepts my flaws, and I accept his. That’s what a marriage is about, right?”

Jess studies me for a long moment, then sighs and leans back in her chair. “If you say so.” She offers a small smile, clearly deciding to drop the subject. “Anyway, did I tell you about Katie’s latest ‘crisis’? You’re going to love this one.”

I nod, grateful for the change in topic as Jess launches into a story, her voice animated. But as we finish our meal, her words linger in the back of my mind, quieter but no less present.

We arrive back at the office, and thankfully, the rest of the day passes without incident. But my mind keeps drifting back to the flowers. Something about them nags at me—Alex knows I hate roses. The thought sticks, a splinter in my brain. Feeling uneasy, I decide to trash them before I leave for the day.

As I’m packing up my things, Jess calls over to me. “Come on, Leah! The day’s done, and we’ve got a night of mojitos and dancing ahead of us!” she says, shimmying her way out of the office. Despite myself, I laugh, watching as a few coworkers eye her antics with amused confusion.

Grabbing my bag, I sling it over my shoulder—only for a small white box with a green ribbon to tumble out onto the desk. My stomach sinks.

I freeze, staring at it.

Where did this come from?

Heart pounding, I pick it up gingerly. Another note is tucked beneath the ribbon, and every rational part of me screams to just throw it away without looking. But I can’t stop myself. My fingers tremble as I pluck the note and flip it over.

I see you’re not a fan of flowers. How about some candy?

The words hit like a physical blow. I glance around the office, my pulse racing. Was someone watching me? Have they been watching me all day?

Fear twists itself into a tight knot in my chest, making it hard to breathe. My gaze sweeps the room, searching for any sign of something—or someone—out of place. But everything looks normal. Too normal.

Fear morphs into anger—hot and sharp, cutting through the panic. This is ridiculous. A cruel joke? A sick prank? Whatever it is, I’m done playing along. My hands shake as I grab the box and hurl it into the trash with a satisfying thunk. Let whoever’s behind this take the hint.

My heart pounds as I storm out of the office, the injustice of it all fueling each step. I refuse to let this ruin my night. I deserve a break, a distraction, something normal. But as I reach Jess’s car, the sight of her on the phone, her expression tight with apology, sends another surge of frustration through me.

“Leah, hey.” She hangs up and clasps her hands together in a mock plea. “I know we promised to have a girls’ night, but my sister called, and she really needs someone to watch her kids. Is it okay if we do a rain check?”

Disappointment wells up mixing with the frustration I really wanted this night, but I push it down, plastering on a smile. “If it can’t be helped,” I say, sighing lightly.

Jess gives me a guilty look as she starts the car. “I’m really sorry, but I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night. Pinky swear,” she says, holding up her pinky for emphasis.

I wave her off as we pull into my driveway. “It’s fine. Go be Super Aunt.”

Jess drops me off and takes off, heading toward her nephews.

When I step into the house, I’m greeted by the mouthwatering smell of stir-fry. Kicking off my shoes, I head toward the kitchen to find Alex standing by the stove, stirring vegetables in the wok.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” I say, leaning against the doorframe.

Alex looks over his shoulder, flashing me a grin before sweeping me into a quick hug. “I could say the same thing. Don’t you usually hang out with Jess on Fridays?”

“She had a family emergency,” I reply, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before heading to the fridge for a glass of wine. He begins plating the stir-fry as I pour.

“I see. Anything interesting happen at work?” Alex asks casually, his tone light.

I freeze for just a fraction of a second before forcing myself to relax, the wineglass cool and grounding in my hand. “Hey, honey,” I begin tentatively, “did you happen to send me roses today?”

Alex pauses mid-motion, giving me a long look like he’s trying to decide if I’m joking. “...No. Why?”

My grip tightens on the wineglass for a moment before I consciously loosen it, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, must have been a mix-up. Someone sent flowers, but I guess they got the wrong desk,” I say, waving it off as I take a long sip of wine.

Alex’s eyes linger on me, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he smiles slightly. “What a strange mix-up. So, I’m guessing it all got sorted?”

“Yep,” I say quickly, setting the glass down. “All taken care of.”

The weight of his gaze makes my skin prickle as I pick up my fork and start eating. Beneath the surface of our small talk, the unease from earlier refuses to fade.

The rest of dinner passes in a strained silence, punctuated only by the occasional clink of utensils. I try to push aside my unease, focusing on my food, but the air feels heavy with unspoken words. Just as I’m starting to relax, Alex’s phone rings, shattering the fragile calm.

He glances at the screen, then at me, offering a half-hearted, apologetic smile before answering. “Hello? Yes, this is Alex…” Without another word, he gets up and disappears into the next room.

I put my fork down, staring at the half-empty plate in front of me. We’ve had this conversation countless times—I’ve told him how much I hate it when he takes calls during dinner. This was supposed to be our time, the rare moments we actually get together. Lately, though, even those have felt fleeting.

Minutes later, Alex reappears, his expression neutral but hurried as he shrugs on his jacket and grabs his keys.

“I’m really sorry, but there’s an emergency at the office. I have to go,” he says quickly, leaning down to give me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek before making a beeline for the door.

Anger and disappointment bubble up, hot and insistent, refusing to be ignored.

I stand abruptly, reaching for his hand. “Alex, I barely see you anymore. I miss you. Can’t you stay, just this once?” I ask, my voice wavering slightly.

He sighs, pulling his hand away gently but firmly. “Leah, you know I can’t—”

“Why can’t you?” I interrupt, my frustration spilling over. “You’re there every night. What is so important that it can’t wait?”

His gaze sharpens, his voice hardening. “Leah, can we not do this right now? I need to go. And honestly, I don’t need you being so clingy.”

His words cut deeper than I’d like to admit, leaving me stunned. Before I can muster a response, he’s already gone, the sound of the door shutting behind him echoing in the empty space.

I stand there for a moment, the silence almost deafening. Slowly, I collect our plates, wrapping Alex’s untouched portion and putting it in the fridge. The motions feel mechanical, my mind elsewhere.

As I rinse the dishes, the light catches on my ring, the emerald glinting like a tiny, unspoken accusation. My thumb grazes over the band as memories of Alex’s proposal surface—how attentive and loving he was back then. The distance that’s grown between us feels like an ache I can’t quite reach.

For a fleeting moment, the thought crosses my mind:What if he’s seeing someone else?

I shake my head, as if to physically dislodge the idea. No. Alex wouldn’t do that. I love him, and I trust him. At least, I want to trust him.

But that doesn’t make the growing void between us any easier to ignore.

After cleaning the kitchen, I try to busy myself with other chores, but my mind keeps circling back to the fight. The harshness in his voice. The way he looked at me—like I was a problem, not a partner.

With a frustrated sigh, I abandon the pretense of productivity and collapse onto the couch, remote in hand. I flip through the channels aimlessly, the glow of the TV doing little to ease the tension coiled in my chest.

Finally, I settle on a rerun of some crime drama, though the plot barely registers. My gaze flicks to the clock on the wall, the hours crawling by as I wait for the sound of his car in the driveway, the jingle of his keys in the lock.

But as the night deepens, so does the silence, leaving me alone with my doubts.

I wake to the shrill chime of the doorbell, pulling me abruptly from restless sleep. Rubbing my eyes, I squint at the clock: 9:30 PM.

“Who could that be?” I mutter groggily, dragging myself off the couch. Alex never forgets his keys, and I hadn’t invited anyone over. The doorbell rings again, sharp and insistent.

“I’m coming, hold on!” I call out, irritation prickling at me as I shuffle toward the door.

The hallway feels unnervingly quiet as I reach the entryway. My annoyance flares as I yank the door open, ready to chastise whoever it is—but there’s no one there.

The porch is empty, the street beyond eerily silent. I glance left, then right, but all I see is darkness.

“Damn kids and their pranks…” I grumble under my breath, stepping out onto the threshold to look around. The night air is crisp, carrying a faint chill that raises goosebumps on my skin.

That’s when I see it: a small package sitting innocently on the doorstep.

I freeze, my grip tightening on the doorframe. For a moment, my mind scrambles for a rational explanation.Maybe Alex ordered something, and it just arrived late. Yes, that had to be it.

Taking a steadying breath, I bend down to pick it up. As I lift the package, a small note flutters to the ground.

Frowning, I reach for it and flip it over. The first sentence stops me cold.

So no to flowers or chocolates. A lady of class, I see. How about some jewelry instead?

My stomach twists as I stare at the note, the words blurring slightly in the dim porch light. A gust of wind rustles the paper, making it tremble in my hand.

I shiver, suddenly feeling exposed, as if unseen eyes are trained on me. Hugging the package to my chest, I retreat inside, locking the door behind me with trembling fingers.

My breath comes in shallow bursts as I set the package on the coffee table and grab the landline. My finger hovers over the buttons, ready to dial the police, but then I hesitate.

What would I even say? I had a few creepy notes and some unwanted gifts. No direct threats, no evidence of anything criminal. The police wouldn’t take me seriously.

With a frustrated sigh, I set the phone down.

Sinking back onto the couch, I try to focus on the TV, but the images on the screen blur into meaningless colors and shapes. My mind keeps circling back to the note, the gifts, the growing sense of unease gnawing at me.

Somebody was watching me.

They knew where I worked.

And now, they knew where I lived.