She had trusted Daniel for years, even when her friends warned that four months apart could change anyone. He had sent affectionate messages, photographs of breakfast, and voice recordings promising that everything at home was fine.
Far too fine.
Evelyn picked up one of the shoes and moved slowly down the hallway.
The main bedroom door was partly open.
Cold white daylight came through the blinds.
Clothing lay scattered across the floor: one of Daniel’s shirts, one of Noah’s sweatshirts, and a blanket folded only halfway.
