Chapter 2 - The Footsteps Downstairs

I handed Noah against my shoulder and stepped into the hall.

"Stay here," I told my mother.

"Evan, stop. You're frightening the baby."

"Then tell me who's downstairs."

She said nothing.

That silence answered more than words could.

I took the stairs slowly, Noah pressed to my chest. The house felt wrong. Claire had chosen every lamp, every pale wood table, every framed photo. Since her death, I had kept everything exactly where she'd left it, as if moving a vase might erase her permanently.

The back door was unlocked.

It hadn't been ten minutes earlier.

On the kitchen island sat a second coffee cup.

Still warm.

I heard my mother behind me.

"It was Susan."

I turned. "Who's Susan?"

"A friend from church."

"A friend from church sneaks out my back door when I come home?"

Diane folded her arms. "She didn't sneak. She left because you came in angry."

"I didn't know she was here."

"You don't need to approve every person who visits me."

"In my house? While you're alone with my son? Yes, I do."

She went pale.

I set her phone on the island without giving it back.

"Unlock it."

"No."

"Then leave."

Her head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

For three weeks, Diane had been my emergency plan. She cooked. She washed bottles. She sat with Noah while I showered. She told everyone I couldn't survive without her.

Maybe that was the point.

She reached for the phone.

I moved it away.

"Unlock it."

Her eyes filled, but no tears fell. "Your wife dies, and now you treat your own mother like a criminal?"

I felt the hit exactly where she intended it.

Claire.

Guilt.

Fear.

Then Noah made a small sound against my neck, and the fog cleared.

"My wife is dead," I said quietly. "That is exactly why I'm not ignoring this."

Diane stared at me for several seconds.

Then she typed the code.

The message thread opened.

The contact name was not Susan.

It was MARTIN KELLER.

I knew that name.

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