Emily, half-asleep, whispered as he tucked her in. “He said he would help and that it’s a secret, but secrets can be good sometimes.” Michael smoothed her hair, masking the storm inside. Another man was teaching his daughter about secrets.
In the garage, Michael found a crumpled receipt tucked between toolboxes—cash withdrawn from an ATM across town, signed with Sarah’s name. The date matched a week he knew she had struggled to pay bills. But the handwriting scrawled on the back—Call me if you need more—wasn’t hers.