The sun had long dipped below the horizon when Cedric stormed into his home, the heavy slam of the door echoing through the hall. His wife, startled from her sewing, looked up with a forced smile.
“Cedric, you’re home early—”
“Enough,” he cut her off sharply, his voice cold and thunderous. He paced the room once before turning on her with eyes dark as storms. “Where is Samantha?”
Her lips parted, a lie already on the tip of her tongue. “She’s still with my cousin in Eastwood. You know, helping with—”
“Do not play that game with me, woman!” Cedric roared, slamming his fist against the table so hard that the plates rattled. His face was flushed, veins standing out on his neck. “I was there today. At your cousin’s house. Do you know what I found? Nothing! No Samantha. Not a single word of
