Chapter 3

Mark kept up his act, leaning heavily on the fence post as if he might collapse at any moment.

"I've missed you all so much," he said, his voice a low, pitiful whine. "Every single day. I just... I was too ashamed to come back a failure."

He looked from me to the house, a fake tear tracing a path through the grime on his cheek. The performance was flawless. He had clearly rehearsed it.

I felt a surge of disgust so strong it was almost physical. I clenched my fists inside the pockets of my jeans, my nails digging into my palms.

"You must be hungry," I said, my voice even. "Come inside. I'll make you something to eat."

This was the right move. A soft, sympathetic response. It was what he expected. It would make him feel secure, confident that his trap was working.

A flicker of triumph crossed his face before he masked it with weary gratitude.

"Thank you, Sarah. You're a saint."

I led him into the kitchen and sat him at the table. I moved around the room with practiced efficiency, pulling out bread, cheese, and the leftover roast chicken from last night. I made him a large sandwich and poured him a tall glass of milk.

He ate like a starved wolf, not speaking, just cramming the food into his mouth.

As soon as he finished, he pushed the plate away and let out a long, theatrical sigh.

"I need to make a quick call," he said, patting his pockets. "Just to let someone know I made it safely."

"Someone?" I asked, my voice light.

"Just... a friend. From the city. He gave me a ride part of the way."

He limped out of the kitchen and headed toward the back porch, seeking privacy. He thought I was the same naive country wife he had left behind. He was wrong.

I waited a moment, then slipped out the side door, circling around the house. I pressed myself flat against the clapboard wall, just below the porch window, the familiar scent of dust and dry wood filling my nose. I could hear his voice clearly. He wasn't talking to a male friend.

"Chloe, baby, it's me," he said, his voice no longer weak and raspy, but full of arrogant confidence. "Yeah, I'm here. It worked perfectly. They're eating it all up."

He chuckled, a low, nasty sound.

"The wife looks worn out, but she's still as soft-hearted as ever. And the old folks aren't even here. This is going to be even easier than I thought. I saw the new truck and the barn looks repaired. They must have a little money tucked away."

A pause. I imagined the woman on the other end, Chloe, demanding to know the plan.

"Just give me a few days," Mark continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'll lay it on thick, get them feeling sorry for me. Then I'll convince them to sell off some land or the livestock. They'll do anything for their 'prodigal son'. We'll have the cash to pay off those thugs before they even know what's happening. Don't worry, baby. Your man has got this all under control."

The cold stone in my chest grew heavier. He hadn't changed at all. He was the same monster, just with a few more years on his face. Hearing his plan, spoken so callously, erased any lingering shadow of the man I once thought I loved. There was only the predator who had returned to his hunting ground.

But this time, the prey knew he was coming.