“Is something wrong, Clara?” Julian called out from the kitchen.

“No,” I said, trying to steady my breathing. “Just tired.”

“You’ve been working very hard on the blog,” he said.

He walked into the dining room carrying two glasses of red wine.

He set one down in front of my plate.

“You should rest,” he said.

He took a sip of his wine, watching me over the rim of the glass.

“Tomorrow, we can take a drive,” he said.

“Away from the screens. Just the two of us.”

The thought of being in a car with him, isolated, made my stomach turn.

Suddenly, the headlights of a car swept across the dining room wall.

The bright beams cut through the rain and the darkness outside.

A vehicle was pulling into our long, gravel driveway.

Julian frowned, setting his wine glass down on the table.

“Are we expecting someone?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

We both stood silent, listening to the sound of the engine idling outside.

Then, the engine cut off.

A car door slammed shut, the sound muffled by the heavy rain.