By the time I boarded my flight, Jeffrey had only just woken from his hangover.
Through the home's security camera, I watched him, his eyes still closed, instinctively reaching toward my side of the bed. His hand touched nothing.
He slowly opened his eyes. The familiar figure wasn't there.
Looking down at his wrinkled, twisted dress shirt, he frowned.
For the past three years, every time he'd gotten drunk, I'd taken care of him. I'd never once allowed him to wake up looking this miserable.
For the first time, panic flickered across Jeffrey's face.
"Mirabelle..."
He called my name again and again. Only silence answered him.
He jumped out of bed and began searching the house.
Watching through the security camera as he frantically searched every corner, I didn't feel any satisfaction
