Chapter 3

The word "Miami" echoed in my head all night. I lay in bed, feigning sleep, while Olivia breathed evenly beside me. It was just a slip of the tongue. A mistake. Martha was old, tired, and as Olivia had said, confused. But the thought was a splinter, lodged just under the skin of my consciousness, impossible to ignore.

The next morning, the feeling hadn't gone away. It sat in the pit of my stomach, a cold, heavy stone. I tried to reason with myself. It was nothing. But then, other things started to surface. Little inconsistencies from the past. The business trip to Chicago last year where she'd posted a photo online, and a friend had commented, "I didn't know your conference was in Denver!" Olivia had laughed it off, saying the friend was an airhead who never paid attention. Or the time she came back from a "sales retreat" in Seattle smelling faintly of saltwater and sand, not pine trees and rain. I had dismissed it all. I trusted her. Why wouldn't I?

I needed to clear my head. I told Olivia I was going to the grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner. It was a good excuse to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the house, where Martha was already holding court in the living room, complaining about the quality of the local news channel.

The bright, sterile aisles of the supermarket were a welcome distraction. I pushed my cart, focusing on the list. Milk, bread, chicken, vegetables. Normal things for a normal life. I was just being paranoid. Martha's cruelty was getting to me, making me see shadows where there were none.

"Liam, hey!"

I turned. It was Mark, my next-door neighbor. He was standing by the craft beer selection, a cocky smirk on his face. Mark was everything I wasn't. He was a sales executive, loud and confident, always dressed in expensive, casual clothes. He drove a sports car too fast down our quiet street and hosted loud parties every weekend. Olivia was friendly with him, but I always found him grating.

"Hey, Mark. How's it going?" I said, trying to be neighborly.

"Can't complain," he said, tossing a six-pack into his cart. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my simple t-shirt and jeans. "Looks like you've got a full house over there. I saw the in-laws arrive yesterday."

"Yeah, they're in town for a bit," I said, not wanting to get into it.

"Fun times," he said, that smirk never leaving his face. "You're a braver man than I am, Liam. A man's home is his castle, you know? You gotta protect the throne."

I had no idea what he was talking about. "It's just for a couple of weeks."

"Right, right," he said, leaning against his cart. He lowered his voice, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "Just some friendly advice. You seem like a good guy, a bit too trusting maybe. You gotta keep your eyes open. You never know who's trying to sneak in the back door while you're guarding the front."

His words were strange, laced with an insinuation I couldn't quite grasp. It felt like a warning, but also like a taunt.

"I'm not sure I follow," I said, my brows furrowing.

"Don't you?" He laughed, a short, sharp sound. "A writer like you? I figured you'd be good at reading between the lines. Just be careful, man. Loyalty is a rare thing these days."

He clapped me on the shoulder, a gesture that was meant to seem friendly but felt more like a power move. "See you around, neighbor."

He walked off, leaving me standing in the middle of the aisle, the cold stone in my stomach now feeling like a block of ice. What the hell was that about? Protect the throne? Sneaking in the back door? It was just bizarre, alpha-male nonsense.

Or was it?

Distracted, I finished my shopping in a haze. I grabbed a carton of orange juice without looking and ended up with the high-pulp version Olivia hated. At the checkout, I fumbled with my wallet, dropping my credit card on the floor. My mind was a mess, replaying Mark's weird comments and Martha's slip about Miami. They were two separate, unrelated things. They had to be. But together, they created a disturbing harmony, a song of doubt that I couldn't get out of my head.