Michael decided not to confront Sarah immediately. His years away had taught him the importance of peace. But, he watched more closely. One of the doors had been repaired, boards replaced with practiced skill. The basement shelves held new jars, neatly labeled. These were not Sarah’s touches. He knew her style. These were the hands of another man.
That night, Michael woke to the faint creak of floorboards above. He lay still, listening, breath held. After a long silence, he convinced himself it was the house and his unease in being in it for so long. Yet the unease held, as though the walls were sheltering more than just his family.