{MICHAEL}
It's late as fuck when I finally drag my exhausted ass home, and except for the front lights, the rest of the house is dark. I roll my neck, trying to work out the crick as I walk into the foyer.
I start towards the stairs, my body craving the oblivion of sleep—until my parched throat protests. Fuck it. I pivot towards the living room instead, navigating through the darkness with the muscle memory of a man who knows every inch of this house.
But just as my hand closes over the kitchen door handle, a flood of light suddenly blasts through the room.
I squint, momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness, going from pitch black to what feels like a goddamn spotlight.
It takes a couple of seconds for my vision to adjust, but I immediately make out the silhouette by the light switch. My hand goes to the handle of my gun, instincts kicking in—but even though I can't see all that well yet, I recognize those curves, that stance…
It's my wife.
