I reached into my purse, my hand brushing against the folded piece of paper Rose had given me.

I pulled it out, folded it smaller, and slipped it into my coat pocket.

Then I got out of the car.

The gravel crunched under my boots as I walked toward the porch.

Each step felt incredibly heavy, as if the air itself had turned to water.

I reached the front door and turned the brass handle.

It wasn’t locked.

I stepped inside the foyer.

The house was warm, smelling of the cinnamon pinecones I had placed in a bowl by the door.

From the kitchen, I could hear the low hum of the television.

“Evelyn?” Richard’s voice called out.

It was his normal, pleasant voice.

The voice of the man I had lived with for twenty-five years.

I closed the door behind me, the latch clicking shut with a sharp, final sound.

I stood in the hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“In here, honey,” he called again.

I took off my coat, making sure the paper was safe in the pocket, and walked toward the kitchen.