I checked our bank accounts. Normal. Credit cards? Clean. No unusual charges anywhere.
Whatever this was, he was keeping it strictly off the books. And that kind of deliberate secrecy is never accidental.
That night, I didn't sleep. I lay on my side with my eyes closed and waited.
At 2:03 a.m., I felt the mattress shift.
Peter moved through the bedroom in the dark without making a sound. He slipped out into the hallway, and I heard the familiar soft jingle of his keys. I counted to 10, then grabbed my coat and followed him.
Whatever this was, he was keeping it strictly off the books.
The cold hit me the second I stepped outside, sharp and sobering, like the night itself was daring me to turn back.
I kept my headlights off until he was far enough ahead. He drove across town, past the shopping district, past every neighborhood I recognized.
He headed deep into an industrial stretch with chain-link fences, dim streetlights, and warehouses sitting dark and silent.
My hands stiffened on the steering wheel. That already looked worse than anything I'd imagined.
If that was what I thought it was, I didn't know if we'd survive it.
This already looked worse than anything I'd imagined.
