Chapter 4

I backed away from the door, unseen, unheard.

The drive home was a blur. "I'd do anything to protect Michael." Her words echoed, shattering the carefully constructed reality of the past five years.

Protect him from what? From justice for my parents?

Every touch, every comforting word, every promise she' d made now felt like a layer in an elaborate lie.

Her proposal at the memorial – was it an act of compassion, or a calculated move to control the grieving son, to gain access, to steer the investigation away from someone she cared about more?

Michael.

The way she looked at him sometimes, a fleeting expression I' d dismissed as sisterly affection.

The way her parents doted on him, while I remained the tolerated outsider.

It all clicked into place with sickening clarity.

I felt a wave of nausea. The past five years, my marriage, her "support" – it was all a performance.

She hadn't been my savior; she'd been his.

I got home before her. The house felt cold, alien.

When Sarah walked in later, she smiled, a little tired.

"Hey, you're home early."

She came to kiss me, her usual routine.

I flinched, almost imperceptibly.

"You okay, Ethan? You look pale." Her hand went to my forehead, feigning concern.

Her touch felt like a brand.

"Just tired," I mumbled, pulling away. "Long day."

"I know the feeling," she said, sighing, oblivious. "This Miller case... it' s still a dead end. But I won' t give up, you know that."

The casual lie, delivered so smoothly, cut deeper than any overt cruelty could.

I looked at the woman I had married, the woman I had trusted with my life, my grief, and saw a stranger.

A very skilled, very dangerous stranger.