If Julian opened the door, there would be no explaining this.

The silver laptop screen cast a cold, blue glow over my face, exposing me.

Then, the floorboards creaked again, further away this time.

The heavy, dragging footsteps of my husband moved toward the master bedroom at the end of the hall.

He must have assumed I was already asleep in the guest room, exhausted from the detective’s relentless questions.

A moment later, the bedroom door clicked shut.

I heard the distinct, mechanical whir of the electronic lock engaging.

Julian was inside, and he had locked himself in for the night.

I exhaled slowly, my chest aching from the tension.

I turned back to the glowing screen of his laptop.

My eyes locked onto the spreadsheet again.

*Subject uncooperative. Dosage adjusted.*

The date of the first entry was October 14th, three years ago.

That was the exact week Sarah Jenkins, a local preschool teacher, had vanished without a trace.

I remembered the flyers that had been taped to the lampposts in our neighborhood.

I remembered how Julian had helped the neighbors search the nearby woods, coming home with mud on his boots and a somber expression.