Chapter 18

Thomas moved through the kitchen like a well-oiled machine, chopping vegetables and stirring sauce in rapid succession. The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtained window, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. Within twenty minutes, he had assembled a simple yet comforting meal—roasted chicken thighs with garlic and rosemary, steamed asparagus, and fluffy mashed potatoes—for himself and his wife. As the final forkful was savored, Cassandra rose from her seat, smoothing the fabric of her blouse before bidding him a tired goodnight and climbing the narrow staircase to their bedroom. Thomas washed the plates and cookware, stacking them methodically at the sink, then wiped down the counters with brisk efficiency. He didn’t pause to think of the two dinner plates still leaning against the dish rack—he would tidy up the last bits later.

Once the clatter of utensils faded and the house settled into a hushed lull, Thomas retrieved his cell phone from the pocket of