Mike and I looked at each other, both understanding at the same time.
She hadn’t just visited.
She had planned something more.
I sent Simon back to the living room and turned to my husband.
“Screenshot every message she ever sent you,” I said.
He nodded.
“Then stay here with Simon,” I added. “I’m going to end this.”
Minutes later, I was in my car, driving through neighborhoods lit with cheerful decorations that felt painfully out of place.
Megan lived ten minutes away.
I knocked on her door.
When it opened, everything became terrifyingly clear.
She was wearing an apron.
Behind her, foil-covered dishes lined the counter.
And the look on her face told me this was far from over.
ADVERTISEMENT
