In one hand, he held a small flashlight. In the other was something that made my throat go dry.
He was also carrying a folded sheet of paper.
He approached the bed, touched the sheets, and froze when he found them empty.
“Gwen…” he whispered.
I had never heard my name sound like that.
My phone vibrated in my hand.
Toby had sent me screenshots of a search history synced to a family account.
Searches about making a death look accidental. Searches about life insurance payouts.
I felt sick.
Christopher swept the flashlight over the armoire hiding me.
For five seconds, the beam stopped directly in front of my face, with only a few centimeters of wood between us.
Then it moved away.
I didn’t come out until dawn.
At seven, Christopher returned through the front door wearing his gray suit and carrying a bag of my favorite pastries.
“Sorry I didn’t make it home,” he said with a smile. “Why did the power go out?”
