She woke up alone, not a trace of her husband's whereabouts. Touching his side of the bed, it felt cold. But the crease on his pillows told her that she didn't just imagine him last night. He was not just a wild dream.
Nonetheless, he was missing.
"Oliver." She called on the empty hallway as she turned left and right.
However, only echoes of her own voice greeted her back as she continued to holler his name.
Tiptoeing around the unfamiliar apartment, she found herself drawn again to the living room.
Of course, she remembered the painting that hung above the fireplace and the animal figurines that were on full display. She vividly recalled how she had accidentally acquired that painting.
Truthfully, it was barely a masterpiece, but more like junk. But she stopped Oliver before he threw it away with the trash.
