Clara approached and picked up the shoes to examine them. They appeared to have been worn… and, more importantly, they were different from the style she preferred. More striking, more unusual.
Clara swallowed.
Whose could they be…?
Her heart began to beat faster than normal. She walked toward the hallway, each step shorter than the last, as if the floor might collapse at any moment.
The door to the master bedroom was ajar.
He approached and pushed the door, shouting loudly:
“Who…?”
It stopped.
The morning light filtered in, casting jagged shadows on the bed. The sheets were wrinkled. There were two people. Or at least that’s what it seemed at first. Clara didn’t really know what she was seeing. Not right away.
Something wasn’t right.
Continue on the next page:
