There were no wet prints leading back out to the door.

He slowly turned his head toward the pantry.

“Rose,” he called out, his voice raised just enough to carry through the wood.

The house was completely silent except for the rain.

“I know you’re in there,” Richard said.

He began to walk toward the pantry door, his leather shoes clicking on the floor.

“Richard, stop!” I cried, grabbing his arm.

He didn’t even look at me; he just brushed my hand off as if I were a nuisance.

“This is my house, Evelyn,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “And everything in it belongs to me.”

He reached for the brass handle of the pantry door.

My breath caught in my throat.

I looked at the counter, at the heavy ceramic mug I had been using.

If he opened that door, if he hurt her, I didn’t know what I would do.

Before he could turn the handle, the slatted door pushed open from the inside.

Rose stepped out.

She had her chin up, but her hands were tucked deep into her coat pockets, hiding the shaking.