A Stranger in the Tub

Steam rolled out first. Then he saw a shape crouched in the tub, knees pulled tight, a towel clutched under one arm like a shield. A woman looked up at him with wet hair plastered to her cheeks and a torn evening dress hanging in strips around her legs.

Aaron backed into the hall and blocked the doorway with his shoulders.

“Get out.”

Her eyes went wide. She pressed harder into the tile.

“Please,” she said, voice thin and shaking. “Don’t call anyone.”

He took in the room in one hard sweep. Mud on the floor. A trail of dirty water from the window over the tub. The latch there was hanging loose on one screw, the cheap little thing he’d meant to replace for a month. Forty bucks. Groceries had won.

His knuckles tightened until the skin whitened.

“How did you get in?”

“The fire escape,” she whispered. “I had no choice.”

His chest went tight. He kept his voice flat.

“This is a bad day for surprises.”

“I know.”

She was shivering so hard her teeth clicked.

Aaron reached for the bath mat, shoved it toward her, then grabbed the robe hook and the towel rack like they might turn into a weapon. The woman didn’t move. She just stared at him, soaked silk pasted to her arms.

A soft thump sounded down the hall.

Aaron turned his head.

“Mia?” he called.

No answer. Then another sound, small feet on the floorboards.

He swore under his breath and stepped back from the bathroom so fast his heel caught the threshold.

A little voice came from the dark hall.

“Daddy? Why is the bathroom door open?”

Aaron got one hand on the bathroom knob and stopped.

Water dripped.