And if anything suggested an immediate threat, I would leave.
At 9:40 on Saturday morning, I stood in my hallway and looked around the house.
The family photographs were still on the walls.
The dining table was polished.
The guest suite was empty.
For seven years, I had tried to make this house feel like a home for both of us.
Now I understood that Richard had mistaken my kindness for permission.
At 9:58, a black SUV pulled into the driveway.
Richard stepped out.
He was wearing a dark suit and carrying a leather folder.
Two men followed him.
Neither looked like a mover.
One was tall and broad-shouldered. The other wore a gray coat and carried a small black case.
I did not open the door.
Richard rang the bell.
I looked through the camera.
He rang again.
Then his phone appeared in his hand.
My own phone vibrated.
A message from Margaret.
