As Eric’s lips parted to speak, the door creaked open, revealing David and the sharp scent of alcohol that followed.

  His eyes were heavy, barely open, and clean bandages wrapped around his hands. “Who are you?“ he asked.

  The detectives exchanged a gnce before fshing their badges. Without waiting for an invitation, they stepped inside, eyes sweeping the living room. It was clean; unlike David.

  “You’re Abigail Foster’s husband, right?” Evelyn asked, locking eyes with him.

  David hesitated, lips parting as if to answer; but before he could, she continued. “We have a few questions.”

  Both detectives took a seat on the nearest sofa, motioning for him to do the same.

  David complied, his body trembling slightly. He perched on the edge of his seat, his fingers fidgeted in his p.

  “Did… something happen?” he stammered.

  Eric leaned forward. “We’re investigating your wife’s death.”

  The words hit him like a punch to the ribs. His breath caught, then came in ragged bursts, as though his lungs had forgotten how to work.

  His hands trembled, not enough to be obvious, but enough to betray the tightness in his grip.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came.

  The silence stretched for too long, longer than it should have.

  Across from him, the detectives narrowed their gaze, absorbing every movement.

  His eyes flickered toward the detective, then quickly down to his p, his fingers tapping the edge of the chair. “How... how did it happen?“ The words stumbled out, cursing himself inwardly for the hesitation.

  They didn’t answer.

  The surrounding air thickened, and he rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes, blurred, darted everywhere but at the detectives, thinking. What the hell happened st night? Did I — He cmped a hand over his mouth as if to silence the thought.

  Eric began taking notes, the sharp scratch of his pen cutting through, as Evelyn kept her gaze fixed on the husband, the weight of her stare heavy before she finally broke the silence.

  “I‘m sorry for your loss.”

  She said, her voice soft, almost too kind; unraveling something deep within him. Before he could stop it, tears welled in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks in quiet surrender.

  “When did you st see her?” she said, handing him a tissue.

  “Yesterday. Around 2 PM, when she took Martha to school,“ he said, his voice low, barely audible.

  “Where were you and what did you do after that?” Eric asked.

  David choked back a sob and wiped his tears, gncing up. “I worked from 4 to 8. Then... I went to a bar. I got drunk. I remember passing by 21st Street; her car was there. So I stayed. But I... I don’t remember getting home. I’m sorry. If I ever remem—” His voice faded as his head sank into his palms. “So she’s…” He swallowed hard. “…dead.” His eyes were wide open, fixated on the floor as if absorbing every pattern on its tile.

  “Does your wife usually stay te?” Evelyn asked, her tone sharp.

  “No.”

  Evelyn leaned in, eyes narrowing. “If she never stays out te, why didn’t you do anything? Why were you drunk? And why was she on 21st Street?”

  David shifted uncomfortably as Eric gred at her, his eyebrows twisted in frustration. One question at a time, dumbass.

  “She was cheating,“ David blurted out, cracking under pressure, his voice hollow. He tightened his grip, knowing it was too te to hold back. “A private detective confirmed it. I found her lover through social media; he lives on 21st Street. When I was drunk, I just... ended up there.”

  Evelyn’s gaze flicked to the bandages. “Where’d you get those?”

  David exhaled slowly. “A fight. Monday.” His gaze drifted, lost in thought.

  Evelyn tilted her head to meet his eyes and as soon as she opened her mouth, Eric pced a hand on her shoulder. Cutting her off, asking.

  “Can you give us his address?”

  David nodded weakly.

  Then the detectives stood, thanking him for his cooperation before heading to the door with the address in hand.

  As Evelyn was about to walk out, Johan walked in. Their gazes locked for a split second—measuring each other, and a second ter, Evelyn turned sharply. “Who are you?” she asked.

  Johan fshed his badge. “Private detective,” he said, dismissing her with a wave. But Evelyn scoffed, stepping closer. “The hell is this? Looks like ours.“ Her eyes flicked up. “You’re not official, are you?”

  “It says private investigator here…” — tapping the title — “…see?”

  “I couldn't care less. You’re supposed to show your business card. This is ...” She clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes before veering toward their car.

  “What brings you here?” A hollow voice cut through the tense atmosphere.

  “I heard what happened, so I came to check on you,” Johan said as he strode to the kitchen, preparing coffee while his eyes remained locked on David, as he thought. I assumed you were passive, someone incapable of violence; I still do, but is it a coincidence that the moment you discovered the truth, she died? Well... Once the coffee was ready, he approached David, crouching beside him.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “No, I just did.” David’s voice was firm.

  “Not as a detective, but as a friend,” Johan said, sipping the coffee.

  “Friend? I don’t even know you“

  “Fair enough, but I know you. Your daughter will be home from school at 12, right? Let your emotions out!”

  “I‘m afraid the only way for me to vent is to punch someone.”

  “How about getting punched? Will that help?”

  “You are asking for it,“ David said, as he stood up, rolling up his sleeves.

  “Sure.”

  As soon as Johan finished his sentence, David threw a punch, nding squarely on his lips. The mug Johan had been holding scattered to the ground. But he didn’t fight back, instead he opted to shield his eyes and nose as David tackled him to the floor, fists raining down, his eyes red with fury. “Why is this happening to me? Why?” David screamed as tears poured down on Johan’s bloodied face.

  The sight made Johan wonder. So, you are capable of losing control. I hope you’re innocent, I really do. But you failed the test; I’m not even fighting back and you aren’t slowing down.

  Johan tightened his grip and spun it halfway, aiming to nd a hit.

  Suddenly, the door creaked open, snapping David out of his berserk state.

  A 14-year-old girl stepped inside, her eyes widening at the sight of her father colpsed on the floor beside a stranger. She froze for a moment, then in a fsh, she grabbed the nearest broom, lifting it like a weapon. “Who the hell are you?!”

  Johan smiled faintly, his lips swollen. “At this point, his punching bag”

  Meanwhile, Eric and Evelyn parked their car near an apartment building on 21st Street. “It’s the 7th on the 3rd floor,” Eric said, as he got out of the car. Evelyn followed, her boots crunching against the gravel. The cool air wrapped around her, offering a soothing embrace.

  The apartment building loomed ahead, its dull gray facade blending with the overcast sky. Eric was already walking toward the entrance when his phone rang.

  “Hold on,” he said, pulling it from his pocket. A gentle smile crossed his face as he answered.

  “Hey, love,” he said softly, his tone so warm it caught Evelyn off guard.

  She followed behind, pretending not to listen, but her eyes darted toward him. The way he was bouncing back and forth, his tone full of excitement. That was different—something she never knew a detective was capable of.

  When the call ended, Eric slipped the phone back and turned to her, catching her staring. Her gaze snapped away, but it was too te.

  “Are you jealous?” he said, a grin tugging at his lips.

  “No,”

  He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

  “Yes.”

  Eric patted her back. “Listen, junior. There is nothing wrong with you; you are just different.”

  She rolled her eyes. “A homeless is different too, nothing wrong with him.” Before snapping. “Except he doesn’t have a home!”

  Her partner let out a chuckle.“ But you have a heart.”

  “Can we move?“ she said as she attempted to walk ahead toward the building, but Eric stopped her, holding her hand.

  “Romance is about understanding one another, about finding comfort in their company. Every human wants that and is capable of it.“ Eric said, his voice softening. “Someday, you’ll find someone who sees all of you. Not parts—everything.” With a gentle smile, he pushed her forward lightly. Signaling to the mission they have in hand.

  At their destination, the door was ajar. Both detectives froze; they exchanged a look. No words, just instinct.

  Eric called out, “Ryan?”

  No response.

  Guns drawn, they entered cautiously.

  The apartment was a mess—drawers yanked open, papers scattered across the floor.

  Stepping further, Evelyn’s breath hitched.

  She exhaled sharply. “Shit.”