She opened the bedroom door to a darkened upstairs hallway. Somewhere below, she heard the steady, reassuring ticktock of a grandfather clock. Following the path of faint moonlight that sifted through a window at the end of the hall, she came to the top of a staircase that descended to the floor below.
The first stair board creaked under her bare feet, and she paused. She didn’t know what time it was, but she was certain that it was late in the evening. Except for the sound of the clock, the house was quiet and still. She didn’t want to awaken anyone. Especially him. He’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want her in this house. If he found her wandering around, it would probably only increase his suspicion of her.
Her stomach rumbled. She straightened her shoulders and steeled her resolve. Vowing she wouldn’t let that man’s ridiculous assumptions get to her, she walked down the remaining steps, keeping close to the edge where the wood didn’t squeak.
Hesitating at the bottom of the stairs, she peered down a wide hallway that appeared to lead to the back of the house. It seemed logical that the kitchen would be in that direction. The whir and click of a refrigerator drew her towards a swinging door. She pushed it open and halted when she saw how dark the room was on the other side. Flattening her right hand against the wall, she searched for a light switch, finding none. She inched farther into the room, feeling cool tile beneath her feet.
From Ethan’s Bride
Copyright © 2013 by Margaret Desmond
This post is in response to the Daily Prompt: Assumption