He left his office in downtown Raleigh early because of a strange, uneasy feeling that had followed him all afternoon. By the time he turned into the driveway of his quiet suburban home, the sun was still bright, casting warm light across the white siding. Everything looked calm.
That illusion lasted only seconds.
The front door was unlocked. The house was too quiet. No music from Sophie’s room, no television, no footsteps upstairs. Michael stepped inside, briefcase still in his hand, listening carefully.
Then he heard it—a woman’s sharp voice, hurried footsteps on the stairs, and a cry that suddenly stopped.
He rounded the corner just as his twelve-year-old daughter was thrown backward.
For a brief moment the world seemed silent. Sophie’s arms flailed as she tried to grab the railing, her brown curls flying around her face. Her terrified eyes met her father’s before her body struck the stairs and tumbled downward.
Michael dropped his briefcase and rushed forward, but he was too far away. Sophie collapsed at the bottom of the staircase with a heavy thud.
At the top of the stairs stood Vanessa.
His wife.