Returning home before her, Julian sat back down in his usual chair. He was more vulnerable than he had ever been when he was truly blind. He realized the truth wasn’t just in the envelope or the phone calls; the evidence was buried in the bones of their house.
He watched her walk back through the front door, her eyes red-rimmed from a fake bout of “crying” she had prepared for his benefit. She knelt by his side, taking his hand with a tenderness that now made his skin crawl.
“It’s okay, Julian,” she whispered. “I’m right here. You’re safe.”
Julian looked through her, his mind racing through the floorboards and the locked cabinets. He realized that the children would be home in an hour—and he knew that once they saw what he had seen, their lives would never be the same.
The police would be the only ones who could end this, but first, he had to see exactly how deep the grave she dug for him really went.
Julian waited until the house settled into the heavy, rhythmic silence of midnight. He no longer needed his cane. Moving with feline grace through the hallways he had memorized by touch, he slipped into Sarah’s private study. The air smelled of stale paper and secrets.
He moved methodically, his eyes scanning drawers that had been off-limits for decades. He wasn’t looking for a mistake; he was looking for a confession.
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