The Shoes by the Door

At exactly 10:47 that morning, Evelyn Mercer stepped out of a taxi in front of an aging apartment building in Chicago’s Lincoln Square neighborhood.

She had returned two weeks earlier than planned after spending four months in Seattle overseeing the opening of a new company branch.

She had not called Daniel, her husband, or Noah, their nineteen-year-old son.

She wanted her return to be a surprise.

Inside one grocery bag were tomatoes, zucchini, peppers, and a package of beef for the stew they both loved. Throughout the flight, Evelyn had imagined the expressions on their faces when she walked through the door and announced that, finally, they would all be eating together again.

But the moment she reached the third floor, she sensed that something was wrong.