That evening, Mom cooked steak.
Not for Naomi.
For me.
There were expensive bottles of wine on the table, imported cheese in the refrigerator, and a new espresso machine on the counter.
Everywhere I looked, I saw my deployment money.
But I barely saw my wife.
Around nine, I asked where she was.
Mom waved dismissively toward the hallway.
“She prefers being alone.”
I checked the bedrooms.
Three had been beautifully furnished.
Mom occupied the master bedroom.
Kendra had turned another room into a combination bedroom and dressing room.
The third was called the “guest suite.”
Naomi wasn’t in any of them.
Eventually, I noticed a thin strip of light beneath the back door.
I followed it outside.
