+Damom White:
There I stood, carefully masking the smug satisfaction curling at the edges of my mouth.
I forced myself to look contrite, composed, innocent—just your average, law-abiding husband—in front of the police officers, watching their expressions as they turned from Nikolai to the basement door, barely concealing their disbelief.
They had no idea what they were walking into, these clueless cops with their uniforms pressed, guns at their hips, and brows furrowed as they looked around the basement.
One of them—a stout guy with a mustache, looked like he'd seen too many late nights at the local diner—glanced back at me, his face full of suspicion and confusion.
Nikolai, on the other hand, stood in front of them with his back to the basement, shoulders tense, hands clenched.
He couldn't even look. I knew he couldn't bear to see it all again.
