The house was strangely still. The grandfather clock ticked steadily in the hallway.
Then I heard it.
A sound that didn’t belong.
It came from upstairs—from the master bedroom.
A woman laughing.
The laugh was light, breathless, unmistakably young.
I froze. The folder suddenly felt incredibly heavy in my hands.
Then I heard Michael’s voice. Not the everyday voice he used for dinner conversations or client complaints. It was softer, more intimate—almost unfamiliar.
My mind immediately tried to explain it away. Maybe he was on a video call. Maybe a client had said something funny.
But that laugh wasn’t coming from a laptop speaker.
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