Page 103 of Crashing Waves

“I don’t know. I’ll call you back.”

I hung up before he had the chance to say anything more, and I hurried to the door, throwing it open. The cold wind whipped violently against my face, stinging and biting viciously, and I squinted through the darkness at her car parked beside mine in the driveway. She was home, butwhere?

“Laura!” I called even louder and didn’t receive an answer.

Holding my hand above my eyes to shield them against the unforgiving gale, I walked toward the edge of the porch, triggering the motion sensor light and illuminating a steady snowfall. I swept my gaze over the yard, looking for any sign that she’d been there. I didn’tknow when it’d begun to snow, but any footprints she might’ve left had since been covered.

I was about to turn back into the house, thinking of all the places I hadn’t checked. The girls’ bedrooms, the nursery, the basement …

Until I saw the brown paper bag, peeking out from beneath a layer of snow, lying just to the side of the brick path, leading from the driveway to the porch steps. It lay on its side, white Chinese takeout boxes spilling out into the snow.

Panic and fear—so much fucking fear—settled deeply in my chest, making it hard to breathe as I walked on unsteady legs down one step, two …

I slipped, lost my footing. I cursed as I reached frantically for the banister, clinging to the cold, snow-covered wood as I skidded in my socks down the rest of the steps—all eight of them—until I landed on my ass at the bottom with a wince and a groan.

The ice. I was supposed to salt the porch. I was …

“Oh God,” I uttered, the words squeezing through my throat beneath the weight of impossible terror and pain. “Oh God!”

I fell forward on my hands and knees and crawled to Laura’s snow-dusted form, lying to the side of the porch steps.

God, God, God.

She must’ve slipped and fallen over the side of the railing, and …

“No,” I whispered, my voice barely reaching my ears—my stupid, fuckingbrokenears—as I rolled her overonto her back to find her face. “No, no, no, no. No, God, no.Please,no.”

Her eyes were closed, her lips were parted, an angel at rest—but, no, she wassleeping.

Yes, that’s all. Passed out. That’s what this is. That’s all it can be.

“Laura? Baby?”

I touched every part of her face—her beautiful, perfect face—brushing the hair and wet, cold snow away. Then I thought I began to cry. I must have been. My face was wet, and drops of water were falling, pattering softly against her coat.

“Baby, please, please,pleasewake up. Please, Laura, justwake up.”

I smoothed her hair back over her head, begging, pleading, crying … and then I felt something at her temple. Something cold and sticky. I blinked back the tears, knowing what I would find, but—no! If I didn’t look, if I didn’t check, it wouldn’t be real. She would wake up. She would, yes. She would be okay. She’d be here, we’d eat dinner, I’d stay home from work, I’d—

“No! Oh God, I-I can’t do this,” I sobbed, shaking my head and cradling her cold face in my hands. “I can’t do this, baby. Wake up. God, please, please, please,please wake up! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry … oh God …”

Get a hold of yourself, Tailor. Breathe.

I sucked in the frozen air, attempting to awaken my paralyzed lungs. I blew steady breaths in and out, regaining whatever control I had left. Then, gently—so, so, so gently—I turned her head to the side to find theblood that drenched her hair, the side of her neck, all the way down to her coat.

How had I missed it? Her body must’ve hidden it, but, God, it was everywhere. All over the bricks, the snow beneath where her body had lain.

With trembling hands, I pressed two fingers to her neck and stared at her closed eyes as I held my body as still as stone, waiting for even the faintest flutter of a pulse, the faintest glimmer ofhope, only to feel … nothing.

She was dead.

She had died, cold and alone, while I slept, oblivious.

The baby.

A sob tore through my throat as I pushed back on my heels and held my hands to her stomach.

My phone.

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