Chapter 12 - The Man Standing in My Workshop
Ben arrived on Tuesday at 4:17 in the afternoon.
I remembered the exact time because my workshop security system sent a notification when the front door opened.
I was cutting maple strips for a café counter.
The saw drowned out his first words.
When I switched it off, he was standing ten feet away.
Expensive coat.
Perfect hair.
Same calm expression I remembered from the party.
The expression of a man accustomed to believing other people would become emotional first.
“You should leave,” I said.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He smiled.
“You spent months talking about me.”
“I haven’t spoken to you once.”
“You talked to Elise.”
“Your wife called me.”
“Ex-wife soon.”
“That sounds like something you should discuss with her.”
His smile tightened.
My phone was on the workbench.
For a second, I considered reaching for it.
Then I saw his left hand.
It rested in his coat pocket.
Not naturally.
His elbow angled outward.
A tiny point of reflected glass showed near the opening.
Phone camera.
He was recording.
I almost laughed.
Instead, I wiped sawdust from my hands.
“You came here hoping I’d threaten you.”
Ben’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
“I came to talk.”
“Then take the phone out of your pocket.”
Silence.
He removed it.
The screen was recording.
“Turn it off.”
“Afraid of something?”
“No. I have four cameras in this building.”
That finally disturbed him.
His eyes moved toward the ceiling.
I had installed the system after opening the workshop.
Not because I expected Ben.
Because tools were expensive.
For once, ordinary caution felt wonderfully dramatic.
Ben stopped recording.
“You ruined my marriage.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“You fed Elise things she didn’t understand.”
“I gave her dates.”
“You wanted revenge.”
“I wanted facts.”
“You showed up at that house armed.”
“Yes.”
The easy admission took some wind from him.
He had expected denial.
I continued.
“I was wrong. I took responsibility. I paid for the damage. I completed everything required of me. What do you want me to say?”
“That you’ve been trying to destroy me since.”
“I think you’re confusing consequences with persecution.”
His jaw tightened.
“That little café woman know what you are?”
There it was.
I felt anger rise.
Not because he insulted me.
Because he brought Rachel into the room.
I stepped backward.
Deliberately.
Ben noticed.
He smiled again.
“She does, doesn’t she? You told her your heroic version?”
“I told her I forced a door while carrying a tire iron.”
“She still seeing you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
His smile widened.
“Touchy.”
My pulse pounded.
For one strange second, the workshop disappeared.
I was back on Mason’s porch.
Humiliated.
Provoked.
Wanting the other man to feel smaller because I felt small.
Then I saw the workbench beside me.
The maple strips.
The table design pinned to the wall.
A life I had built after that night.
Ben did not get to choose what kind of man stood inside it.
I walked to the front door and opened it.
“Leave.”
“What if I don’t?”
“I’ll call the police and have you trespassed.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“Maybe.”
I held the door.
“But you’re still leaving.”
He stared at me for several seconds.
Then he walked past.
At the threshold, he stopped.
“You think Natalie told you everything?”
I said nothing.
He leaned closer.
“She didn’t.”
I almost asked.
Almost.
That was what he wanted.
Instead, I said, “Goodbye, Ben.”
He left.
I locked the door.
Then I sat on the floor.
My hands were shaking.
Again.
Ten minutes later, I called Leah.
She asked for the security footage.
Then I called Rachel.
Not because I wanted reassurance.
Because Ben had mentioned her.
She deserved to know.
“He came there?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“Not directly.”
“What did he want?”
“For me to become the version of me he can use.”
Rachel went quiet.
“And did you?”
I looked at the closed workshop door.
“No.”
That evening, Leah reviewed the footage.
She advised me to make a nonemergency police report documenting the unwanted visit.
I did.
At nine thirty, Natalie called.
I had not spoken to her since the courthouse.
I almost let it go to voicemail.
Then I answered.
“Ethan?”
Her voice was trembling.
“What happened?”
“Ben came to see me.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“What did he want?”
Natalie started crying.
I waited.
Finally, she whispered, “He wants me to sign something saying you were obsessed with me after the affair.”
I stood very still.
She continued.
“He says if I don’t, he’ll release messages and pictures.”
“What pictures?”
Her breathing broke.
“Private ones.”
I closed my eyes.
The drama had changed.
This was no longer about a Facebook post.
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Ben was scared.
And scared men who needed someone else to become the villain could become very dangerous.
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