June POV:
I got home around 7 a.m.
I guessed by that time they'd be gone — off to work, rushing through their perfect little lives, pretending I didn't exist.
The house looked normal from the outside.
Silent.
Still.
Dead, almost.
I slipped my key into the lock, careful, cautious. The door creaked when I opened it, the sound far too loud in the heavy morning air.
I winced.
Waited.
Nothing.
Good.
I crept inside, heart hammering against my ribs.
Shoes off at the door.
Bag pressed tight against my side.
I didn't breathe until I made it halfway down the hallway.
Then—
The sound of a chair scraping against the kitchen floor.
I froze.
The air changed.
Got thicker.
Got colder.
And suddenly I knew—
I knew—
I wasn't alone.
"Where the fuck were you?"
His voice came from the kitchen.
Low.
Razor-sharp.
Full of a kind of anger that promised pain.
I turned my head slowly.
There he was.
Sitting at the kitchen table.
Half a cup of black coffee in front of him.
