Chapter 1 - THE MIDNIGHT GHOST
I stood frozen in the darkness of the home office,
the cold metal of the filing cabinet still biting into my fingertips,
while the floorboards above me groaned with the weight of my husband’s footsteps.
“Susan?”
Thomas’s voice was heavy with sleep,
yet sharp enough to pierce the silence of the hallway.
I felt a surge of panic,
a primal urge to run,
to scream,
to demand to know why he was planning to leave for Belize in twelve days.
But the cold,
calculating mind of an insurance claims manager took over,
reminding me that a panicked witness is a useless witness.
I slid the thin envelope back beneath the drawer,
ensuring it was hidden just as I had found it,
and clicked the cabinet shut with a sound that felt like a gunshot in the quiet room.
I slipped out of the office,
my bare feet silent on the hardwood,
and moved toward the kitchen just as Thomas reached the top of the stairs.
I grabbed a glass from the counter,
turned on the tap,
and let the water run,
the sound masking the frantic thumping of my heart.
“Susan? What are you doing down there?”
He was standing at the railing now,
a shadow against the dim light of the upper hall.
“I couldn't sleep,”
I said,
my voice sounding steadier than I felt.
“I needed some water.”
I took a sip,
the liquid cool against my parched throat,
and looked up at him.
He looked so normal,
so familiar,
so much like the man I had loved for two decades.
“You’re still not feeling well?”
I asked,
throwing his own lie back at him.
He rubbed his face,
yawning,
and shook his head.
“Just restless, I guess.”
“Come back to bed,”
he said,
his tone almost tender.
I followed him up the stairs,
watching the back of his head,
wondering how many other lies were buried in that brain of his.
I lay down on my side of the bed,
the right side,
and felt the mattress sink as he climbed back into the left.
I closed my eyes,
pretending to drift off,
but every muscle in my body was coiled like a spring.
I thought of Patricia Vance,
the wealth transition consultant,
and the one-way ticket.
He wasn't just leaving me,
he was erasing our history,
one signature at a time.
I lay there until the sun began to bleed through the curtains,
mapping out the audit of my life.
May you like
The hunt had begun,
and I was no longer the prey.
