We use cookies
When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
Your cookies settings
Strictly cookie settingsAlways Active
That's Not Tanner
Bailey Tanner didn’t come home last night. It’s evident as soon as I step through the front door after my night shift at the Wilson’s. At barely past 6:00 in the morning, I should hear him snoring away or bustling in the kitchen getting breakfast ready, but my ears are met only with silence. “Tanner?” I call, even though I know in my bones that there’s nobody here to answer. Unease creeps beneath my skin as I hang up my purse on the hook beside the door and kick off my shoes. There’s still no movement in the depths of our home, and as I wander from room to room, I realize that nothing’s changed since I left the night before. The bed’s in disarray, the sheets tangled and the comforter crumpled halfway onto the floor. The dishes in the sink are untouched, food in the fridge uneaten. Empt
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD
