Every Sunday evening, Richard left my mother’s house at exactly the same time. At first, nobody thought much of it. He was Mom’s new partner, and after years of seeing her alone, I was happy that someone made her laugh again. But his routine never changed. Dinner ended, he checked his phone, suddenly became restless, and invented some reason he needed to leave. Mom always watched him go with a strange expression.

Chloe noticed it too. She was only sixteen, but she had a habit of noticing things adults ignored. One Sunday, she asked me why Richard always looked worried before leaving. I told her he probably had somewhere else to be. She shook her head. “Then why does he look sad?”

The question stayed with me.

The following Sunday, Richard left earlier than usual. Chloe watched his car disappear down the street, then quietly said she thought she knew where he was going. Before I could stop her, she grabbed her jacket and followed.

I expected her to return with nothing more than a silly story.

Forty minutes later, she came through the door carrying Richard’s leather bag, and the look on her face told me immediately that she had found something none of us was prepared to see.