Glass shards scattered around his feet, but Nathan seemed not to feel a thing.
He stared at the TV for a full thirty seconds before suddenly rushing into the bedroom.
"Elodie."
There was no answer.
He switched on every light in the room. The closet doors slammed against the wall as he yanked them open.
It was empty.
My clothes, scarves, document pouch, medications—even the old diffuser by the bedside were gone.
He rushed into the study next.
All that remained on the desk was a faint layer of dust.
The manuscripts, potted plants, and project files I had once filled the room with were gone, one by one—either taken with me or destroyed.
Beside the computer lay a check.
Five dollars.
Underneath it was the spare key to the little electric car.
And a note.
Nathan's fingers trembled
