Instead, the apartment looked less like a real home and more like a staged model no one actually occupied.
She placed the grocery bags on the kitchen counter.
Then she saw the shoes.
A pair of women’s low-heeled shoes in dark burgundy sat neatly beside the entryway wall. The toes were worn, and each shoe had a small gold buckle.
Evelyn recognized them without understanding why.
They were not hers.
She would never have chosen that style.
A hard pain struck the center of her chest.
She had trusted Daniel for years, even when her friends warned that four months apart could change anyone. He had sent affectionate messages, photographs of breakfast, and voice recordings promising that everything at home was fine.
Far too fine.
Evelyn picked up one of the shoes and moved slowly down the hallway.
