EVENING had already settled when Charles’ car rolled to a stop in front of Amelia’s house.
The lights were on inside, warm and calm.
He sat behind the steering wheel for a moment, jaw tight, watching the curtains shift slightly from the breeze of an open window. No sign of urgency. No sign of a woman waiting for him.
‘She didn’t even tell me she was back.’
That thought burned again.
He stepped out of the car and shut the door a little harder than necessary. The sound echoed in the quiet street.
By the time he reached her door, his anger had rearranged itself into something controlled, something presentable. He straightened his jacket and knocked.
Then he heard footsteps approaching and soon, the door opened.
Amelia stood there, dressed simply in a soft home outfit, her hair loosely
