He needed to know more before he found Laura, so he stepped back into the hallway, head still spinning. He’d flown sixteen hours, changed planes twice, and skipped calling ahead specifically so he could watch her face when she opened the door. None of that mattered now compared to the question sitting in his chest.
The house looked exactly like he remembered — same family photos on the stairwell wall, same scuff mark by the kitchen doorway he’d meant to fix before he left. Nothing seemed disturbed except for what he’d just found. He called her name softly, more out of habit than expectation, and got nothing back.
In the kitchen, a vase of flowers sat wilting on the counter, two days past their prime, a card propped beside them. He picked it up and turned it over, looking for a name, but the ink had smudged from condensation, leaving only a few unreadable letters. He set it back down exactly as he’d found it. Somebody had been buying her flowers while he was gone…