Her phone rang again that night. Michael pretended to be asleep, but he knew Sarah had taken the call to the toilet, where she shut the door behind her. He heard the muffled talk from inside. Well, secrecy like that almost always pointed to one single thing. But he decided he would gather more proof before confronting her.
Michael searched the basement with fresh resolve. Behind boxes, he found a half-empty toolbox—old, battered, but not his. The tools were well-used, handles worn smooth by calloused hands. He held them like relics of an intruder, proof that another man’s presence had seeped into every corner of his home.