Page 1 of His Loving Wife

Chapter 1

12 months ago

Whatever Kate had been dreaming—something magnificent, she believed—retreated mercilessly. She tried to remember, pulling at her thoughts like a fisherman reels in his catch, but it was useless. Her dream was gone, locked away in some forgotten chamber of her mind.

Thud.

A sound. Was that what had woken her? She opened her eyes, but couldn’t see anything, the blackout curtains performing exactly as designed. Behind them was nothing more than wisps of moonlight. It was the middle of the night. The alarm clock to her left confirmed it.

Thump.

Another sound.

Kate raised herself onto her elbows, squinting to make sense of her surroundings. She saw the outline of the dresser across from their bed, easing her into familiarity.

Clatter.

A chill started in her gut, clenching her insides, snaking its way up through her chest to her throat.

“Andrew?” she whispered.

Her husband was still wholly asleep, perhaps lost in his own dream. He didn’t stir.

Two more noises. They sounded closer, clearer. Or maybe that was just because Kate was now awake, fully cognizant. She gave Andrew a hard shove, the kind that was impossible to ignore.

“Andrew. I think there’s someone in the house.”

He turned his head in her direction, no better capable of seeing anything. “It’s probably Willow.” He fell back on the pillow like a toy whose battery had run out.

Willow. Their daughter. Fifteen. Sleeping in her bed. The lavender walls of her room plastered with black and white posters of moody rock bands who reigned supreme well before her time. Kate could imagine it with absolute clarity, but it didn’t make sense. If Willow were wandering about the house, she’d do her best to be quiet.

That sound wasn’t her.

And it wasn’t Noah. Their son was only nine. He slept in the bottom tier of a bunk bed they’d found online a year before. He filled the top mattress with his favorite stuffed animals. Noah was much more comfortable with the idea of remaining a child than Willow was. He was still too cautious to roam through the house on his own in the middle of the night. He was more likely to dart down the hall, climb into their bed when he’d had a nightmare.

That sound wasn’t him.

“Andrew, something’s happening.”

Kate knew it now. The feeling inside her had blossomed from paranoia into fact. Someone was inside their home, someone that didn’t belong. And they were making careless sounds, almost like they wanted to cause this type of tension before the big reveal.

She threw the comforter from over her legs and scrambled to the wall. “Andrew,” she said, her voice an urgent whisper. He ignored her, until she flicked the light switch, drowning the room in sharp colors and light.

“Damn it, Kate.”

She wasn’t listening to him. She was crouched in front of the bedroom door, waiting for another sound, waiting for confirmation that the fear inside her body was founded. She couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like someone was coming up the stairs.

“Did you hear that?” She turned, gave Andrew a spiteful stare.

Andrew didn’t say anything, but the look on his face confirmed he’d heard it, too. He wasn’t as alert as Kate, wasn’t as on edge, but that last sound had proved he wasn’t dreaming.

Footsteps. Right outside their door. Instinctively, she flicked the lock. The one they’d installed a few years ago, when they realized it was their only hope of intimacy away from their two curious kids. The doorknob jangled. Once, twice. Two gentle turns letting them know someone wanted in.

This time, Kate was too afraid to say anything. She turned, staring at Andrew with wide eyes.Do something, they said.Tell me what to do. But she didn’t say it, only her expression did.

“We’ll call the police,” Andrew said. It came out like a guess. Should we? Is that what people do in these types of situations?

They didn’t own a gun. And they didn’t have neighbors who could hear their screams. The family next door, the Robertsons, had left for vacation that very day. The world, which only yesterday had seemed so big and colorful and vibrant, shrank to the size of a rice grain in those short, intense moments of panic.

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