the man in scrubs.
“Who’s that?”
“Marcus.”
“And why is Dad’s bedroom locked from the outside?”
Abigail froze.
Only for a moment.
Then her expression softened again.
“For his safety.”
She lowered her voice.
“I didn’t tell you because you were deployed. You had enough to worry about.”
“What happened?”
“He’s slipping away, Sam.”
She touched my arm.
“And he’s become violent.”
I looked at her.
Then at Marcus.
Then back toward my father’s window.
And I smiled.
“Okay.”
Abigail visibly relaxed.
She didn’t know that before joining the military, I had spent years working as a forensic auditor.
And both careers had taught me the same lesson.
When you realize you’re standing inside a trap, don’t announce that you’ve seen it.
Let the person who built it believe you’re still walking forward.
I kissed Abigail’s forehead and carried my duffel inside.
Later, while she and Marcus were downstairs, I entered our bedroom and opened Abigail’s jewelry box.
Beneath a strand of pearls was a small brass key.
I took it upstairs.
The moment I unlocked Dad’s door, stale air and antiseptic hit me.
The curtains were closed.
