Jared sat on the couch, his eyes fixed on the door as if sheer willpower would make it swing open. Jerica was never late. Ever. But tonight, the clock had inched past half-past eight, and the silence in the apartment gnawed at him.
The rhythmic sound of the raindrops on the window offered him no solace.
He'd left work early, because he had to take care of something. He returned early to join her for dinner. Yet here he was, staring at the untouched plates of food on the dining table. She wasn't eating his cooking these days either, not that he could blame her.
His throat tightened as he thought back to that night—the night that still sent a cold shiver down his spine. He had lost it when he found her submerged in the water. The sight had paralyzed him with fear, and when she brushed it off, like it was nothing, something inside him snapped.
