That evening, Arthur came home carrying a bouquet of white roses.
He had never been good at apologizing.
When the florist asked what to write on the card, he thought for a long time before settling on four words:
"Please stop being angry."
As far as Arthur was concerned, he had cleared his schedule to pick Sarah up from the hospital and had even offered to travel with her. A bouquet should be enough to end their argument.
He opened the front door.
The house was dark.
"Sarah?"
No one answered.
Arthur switched on the living room light.
The kitchen was unnaturally clean. No pot sat on the stove. No dinner waited for him on the table.
Unease tightened in his chest. He hurried to the closet.
Sarah's clothes, shoes, and suitcases were gone. Her skincare products had vanished from the
