Then, Clara rummaged through her things to find her house key. Since she hadn’t used it in a while, it took her a bit to find it. Clara opened the door.
The first thing that surprised her was that the house was still strangely clean and tidy, not at all what she had imagined—a place left untouched by a woman’s touch.
Clara moved forward, gently placing the bags on the table.
Then she saw it.
A pair of delicate, low-heeled women’s shoes leaning against the wall.
She froze.
They weren’t hers. She knew it with a disquieting, almost physical certainty. She had never worn low heels. A thought crossed her mind:
“Could they both be planning to buy me a surprise gift?”
Clara approached and picked up the shoes to examine them. They looked worn… and, more importantly, they were different from her preferred style. More striking, more unusual.
Clara swallowed.
Whose could they be…?
Her heart began to race. She walked toward the hallway, each step shorter than the last, as if the floorboards might give way at any moment.
The master bedroom door was ajar.
She approached and pushed open it, shouting loudly,
