He stood motionless halfway up the stairs.
For days, something had been bothering him: a discomfort he couldn’t explain. Not during the meetings in New York, nor on the quiet flight back home. It followed him like a shadow until he finally cut his trip short and returned unannounced.
Now I understood.
It wasn’t stress.
It was instinct.
A warning.
She ran up the remaining steps, following the sound to the laundry room. When she burst through the door, everything she thought she knew about her life shattered.
Her eight-year-old son, Liam, was trembling against the wall, his shirt slightly lifted. His small shoulders were shaking.
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