Claire had brushed it off—said I was overworking, that I needed rest… vitamins… warm milk before bed “for my heart.”
And I had trusted her.
Every night.
“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice barely steady.
Tyler nodded.
“He said… if the poison didn’t finish it, he’d use the gun.”
The word poison hit me like ice in my veins.
I didn’t go to the police.
Not yet.
Some things are too monstrous to believe until you see them yourself.
I drove toward our neighborhood—but instead of pulling in, I parked across the street, in the shadows of an empty lot.
Our house stood there, peaceful. Lights on. Perfect.
“Stay down,” I whispered. “Don’t make a sound.”
We waited.
Ten minutes later, headlights appeared.
A car stopped in front of my house.
Claire stepped out first.
No suitcase.
Same dress.
Keys in hand.
Then Ryan stepped out of the driver’s side.
Confident. Calm.
The same man I had helped like a son.
The same man I had loaned nearly $300,000 just weeks ago to “save his business.”
I watched as he walked up to my wife.
She turned toward him.
And kissed him.
Not quick. Not secretive.
Long. Familiar.
Like it wasn’t the first time.
Rage flooded through me—raw, violent, immediate.
My hand reached for the tire iron under the seat.