The footsteps thudded closer, each one a reminder of the man Evan had become—a stranger who wore my husband’s face. I knew what would come next: the threats, the gaslighting, the cruel words that would twist the knife of betrayal deeper. But for once, the fear was tempered by a spark of defiance. My father was coming, and Evan had no idea what that meant.
The basement door creaked open. Evan’s silhouette loomed, backlit by the harsh overhead light. He stared down at me, eyes sharp, calculating. “Have you had time to think?” he asked, his voice dripping with false concern.
I didn’t answer. Keeping my eyes on the floor felt like the safest choice. The phone was still on, hidden beneath a pile of rags. I hoped my father was listening, that he could hear the malice in Evan’s voice and know to hurry.
