“Good.” He turned back to the stove.
“That’s good.”
I set my bag down and went upstairs to change.
In the bedroom, I checked my phone.
No message from Patricia yet.
I changed my clothes and went back down.
We ate dinner.
Daniel talked about the news, about a road closure near his office, about whether we should repaint the back fence before winter.
I answered everything.
Ava answered everything.
The pasta was good.
I told him so.
After dinner, he poured himself a whiskey and settled into his chair.
At 8:12, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I stood up and said I was going to check on the laundry.
In the hallway, I read Patricia’s message.
*Detective Reyes will be at your home tomorrow at 10 a.m.
Do not tell Daniel.
If he leaves the house before then, call me immediately.*
I put the phone back in my pocket and walked back into the living room.
Daniel looked up.
“Everything okay?”
“Laundry’s done,” I said, and sat back down.
He looked at me for just a moment longer than necessary.
Then he looked back at the television.
Daniel did not go to work the next morning.
He came downstairs at seven-thirty and said he’d decided to take a personal day.
He said he was tired.
He said he wanted a slow morning.
I stood at the kitchen counter and poured his coffee and handed it to him and said that sounded nice.
Inside, I was calculating.
Patricia had said: *if he leaves the house before then, call me immediately.* She had not told me what to do if he stayed.
I sent her a message from the bathroom: *He’s home.
Not leaving.
What do I do?*
Her reply came in three minutes.
*Detective Reyes is already on his way.
He knows the situation may be fluid.
Stay calm.
Do not let Daniel leave once Reyes arrives.*
I put the phone away and went back to the kitchen.
Daniel was reading something on his tablet at the table.
Ava came downstairs at eight and poured herself cereal and sat across from him.
They exchanged a few words about the weather.
Normal.
Perfectly, horribly normal.
At 9:47, a car pulled into the driveway.
Daniel heard it.
He looked up from his tablet.
“Expecting someone?”
“My sister mentioned she might stop by,” I said.
I moved toward the front door before he could.
Detective Reyes was a compact man in a gray jacket, plain clothes, no uniform.
He had a second officer with him, a woman who introduced herself as Officer Chen.
Both of them had the particular stillness of people who do this for a living.
“Mrs.
Calloway,” Reyes said quietly.
“Is he inside?”
“Kitchen,” I said.
“He doesn’t know.”
“Keep him calm.
We’ll take it from here.”
They stepped inside.
Daniel heard the footsteps and looked up from the kitchen doorway.
He saw Reyes and Chen, and something moved across his face — fast, controlled, almost invisible.
If I hadn’t been watching for it, I would have missed it.
“Mr.
Calloway,” Reyes said.
“I’m Detective Reyes.
I have some questions about an incident from five years ago.
I’d like you to come with us.”
Daniel set his tablet down very carefully.
“What kind of incident?”
“The accident on Route 9 in October.
The one involving your daughter Chloe.”
A pause.
One full second.
“That case was closed,” Daniel said.
