My daughter hadn’t replied for a week, so I drove to her house. My son-in-law insisted she was “on a trip.” I almost believed him—until I heard a muffled moan

But as I turned toward my car, I heard it.

A muffled moan.

From the locked garage.

My hand froze on the car door.

Mark’s face shifted before he could stop it. Fear flashed, then anger.

“Old pipes,” he said.

I nodded once.

Then I drove away.

At the corner, I parked beneath a dead streetlight, turned off my headlights, and opened the hidden recording app on my phone.

Because Mark had forgotten one thing.