“Stay down here,” I told him, placing him on the couch and switching on the television. “Mommy needs to check something.”
I climbed the stairs two at a time.
The guest room door remained locked.
I shook the handle.
Twisted it until my wrist hurt.
Then I pressed my forehead against the wood and tried to breathe.
“Mark,” I whispered into the empty hallway. “What did you do?”
Small footsteps sounded behind me.
Leo had followed, one hand curled around the banister.
“Mommy,” he said in the overly loud whisper five-year-olds believed was quiet. “I’m not supposed to say.”
“Leo, honey, please go back downstairs.”
“But there’s a surprise inside.” He climbed the final two steps. “Daddy has the key. He keeps it in his work bag. He said only him and the lady can open it ’cause the surprise isn’t done.”
I shut my eyes.
Every clue lined up neatly and formed a picture I had already finished creating.
