CONRAD
I slept in miserable twenty-minute bursts between staring at the ceiling and replaying every second of yesterday until my brain felt liquified.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the man at Winnie’s cottage or the way she’d looked. Not to mention the way she’d shoved me into my car like she was trying to save me from something. Or someone.
By four in the morning, I’d convinced myself she was trapped in an abusive relationship.
By six, I’d decided I was being dramatic.
By seven-thirty, after my third cup of coffee and zero appetite, I was back to wanting to drive out there with a baseball bat and extremely limited legal foresight.
Greg had not been thrilled when I called to say I was staying home again.
“Conrad,” he said in the tone people used when they were trying not to sound annoyed while absolutely being annoyed, “the quarterly report still needs to be finalized.”
“It will be.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“And I meant it yesterday too.”
A long sigh crackled through the phone. “You’ve been distracted lately.”
He was right. A few months ago, I would’ve worked through a hurricane, food poisoning, and minor organ failure rather than missing office time. Now, I was pacing my kitchen because a woman who dressed in black from head-to-toe in ninety-degree weather had vanished from my life.
“I’ll have the report done tonight,” I promised.
“Fine. I don’t care where you work, as long as it gets done.”
The call ended. I stared at my reflection in the microwave door. I looked deeply unwell. The kids were also gutted by Winnie’s rash decision to quit, but I told them they needed to go to school anyway. I spent the day wandering aimlessly around the house, trying to make sense of Winnie’s absence.
When the kids got home from school, they were tense and easily upset. Bianca cried when I asked her to put her shoes by the front door instead of in the middle of the living room. I couldn’t remember the last time Bianca cried openly in front of her siblings.
None of us had really recovered from yesterday. Especially not Billie. She’d cried herself to sleep and had barely spoken tome that morning. That alone told me how deeply Winnie had worked her way into this family. I hated how empty the house felt without her.
The kids sat at the kitchen island, eating apple slices and peanut butter while I pretended to answer emails.
Then my phone rang. I glanced down automatically and froze.
Winnie.
My heart slammed against my rib cage so hard it genuinely hurt.
I answered immediately. “Winnie?”
The kids’ heads whipped toward me so fast it was honestly a little frightening.
Billie nearly fell off her stool trying to scramble closer. “Is it her?”
“Shh.”
I stood quickly and moved toward the living room, but the children followed like emotionally compromised ducklings.
“Hello, Conrad.”
Her tone stopped me cold. It was polite and controlled. There was no warmth or softness in her voice. It didn’t sound like her at all. Every instinct in my body started screaming immediately.
“Winnie, are you okay?”
