I stood in the kitchen, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

The back window was unlocked; I had left it slightly open to let the steam out from my evening baking.

I could see the brass latch was turned sideways, leaving a thin gap.

Marcus was tearing the living room apart, throwing books from the shelves.

“He isn’t here!” I yelled, trying to keep his attention away from the kitchen stove.

If he found the loose wall cavity, everything would be over.

“Then you better start talking,” Marcus said, turning around to face me.

He held a heavy iron poker he had grabbed from the fireplace.

The metal tip caught the yellow light, dull and dangerous.

“I built that workshop from the ground up,” Marcus said, walking back toward the kitchen.

“Your husband was a nobody when I hired him fourteen years ago.”

“I gave him a roof, I gave him a wage, and I gave him trust.”

“And he repaid me by stealing the one thing that keeps my business afloat.”

He stopped at the threshold of the kitchen, his eyes scanning the room again.