As I stepped out of the neighborhood, I passed by a small park where a group of children were playing.

One little boy, in the middle of a game of chase with his friends, accidentally crashed into my knee.

"Ah!" the boy cried out in pain. He stumbled and fell to the ground.

A woman, who had been sitting nearby, immediately rushed over.

I was about to explain that it had just been an accident, that the child had tripped on his own, but her expression shifted from anger to something warmer when she saw who I was.

"Ross, is that you? I didn't recognize you from so far away!" she exclaimed with a smile, as she helped the child up.

Hearing her call my name, instantly, I recalled who she was.

"Josephine Wells? Your son's all grown up now!"

I was genuinely delighted to run into an old high school classmate after all these years. At first, I hadn't recognized her either.

As I spoke, I instinctively reached down to pick up her son, but when I looked at the boy's face more closely, I froze.

The child bore a striking resemblance to Finn. A jolt of recognition ran through me—could it be? No, he had been too young before. He must have just grown into a look-alike.

"What's wrong?" she asked, noticing my hesitation.

"It's nothing," I replied quickly, forcing a casual tone. "I just… didn't see his father around. Where's he?"

Her answer came out curt, clearly reluctant to answer my question. "He's at home, doing fine."

The topic seemed to make her uncomfortable, so I decided to let it go.

"Mommy, mommy, I'm hungry!" the boy tugged at her sleeve, whining.

Without thinking, I scooped him up into my arms. "Alright, let's go. I'm hungry too. Let's have something delicious!"

"Thank you, Mister! Yay!" he cheered.

We headed to a family-style restaurant and ordered a few dishes that I knew kids loved.

I was enjoying the meal, laughing at the child's endless chatter, and even having a little beer. The atmosphere was light, and I was genuinely happy.

As we were finishing up, the boy suddenly looked up at me and said, "Thank you, Mister. This is the best meal I've ever had."

His words caught me off guard, and I felt a warm twinge in my chest.

I smiled at him, but a wave of questions lingered in my mind.

I pushed them away—this was none of my business. People's personal lives were theirs to manage, and I had no right to pry as an outsider.

I gently took his hand, placing it in mine. "If you ever want to eat with me again, just come find me."

He nodded eagerly, his face lighting up.

Josephine stroked his head affectionately, then turned to me with a smile and said, "Thank you."

Just as I turned to leave, Lily's call came through. I didn't answer it.

I swiped the call away, about to say my goodbyes to Josephine, when the wind lifted her skirt, and I noticed a dark bruise on her calf.

It was still summer, but she was wearing long sleeves. She was clearly trying to hide signs of domestic abuse.

She noticed that I'd seen it, and instinctively pressed down on her skirt to cover the bruise.

I stepped closer, grabbing her hand and pulling up her sleeve. What I saw made my blood run cold—her arm was covered in bruises, and there were burn marks, as if from a cigarette.

She jerked her arm away quickly, her voice stumbling as she mumbled, "I'm fine."

Without saying another word, I pulled out my phone and transferred five hundred dollars to her via the payment code she showed me.

She looked up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, but she didn't say anything.

I knew this was her battle, not mine. And as much as I wanted to intervene, I couldn't force her to confront what was happening. It was up to her to handle.

I thought about my own life—how I had once believed that as long as I loved my wife with all my heart, everything would be fine.

But now, I saw the truth: loving her wasn't enough. I had to love everything about her—her family, her troubles, even her brother.

I gave her shoulder a gentle pat, then turned to leave, but not before reminding her, "Call the police, alright?"

After parting ways with Josephine, I sat alone in the park for a while longer, allowing the alcohol to wear off.

The crisp evening air was a welcome relief, and I found myself reflecting on how suffocating it would be to return home, to that place where anger and tension simmered just beneath the surface.

The sun set slowly, casting long shadows across the park. What had once been filled with the laughter and chatter of children had now fallen silent. Even the usual noise of playful kids had died down as their parents called them home.

The autumn breeze carried a chill, and I could feel the last remnants of my anger dissipating with it. I flicked the dust off my jacket and decided it was time to head home.

But as I stepped through the door, the house was plunged into darkness. There were no lights on.

I stopped for a moment, puzzled. Was the power out?

"Honey?"

"Finn?"

There was no response. The silence was thick and oppressive. Finn was nowhere to be found either.

From the direction of the storage room, I heard a sound—an odd, sickening crack, like the sound of bone being hacked into. My body tensed as I instinctively crouched low and moved toward the source of the noise.

The door to the room was ajar, with the faintest sliver of light leaking through.

As I approached, I peered through the crack. I saw Lily with her back to me. She seemed to be chopping something.

The room was too dark for me to make out much more, but I could see the vague silhouette of her movements.

Then, suddenly, a loud clatter broke the stillness.

Something small and soft brushed past my ankle, a round object, furred and cold.

My heart skipped a beat. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

I bent down instinctively and pulled out my phone to illuminate the space. The light flickered on, revealing the object—a head.

Finn's head.

My pulse spiked, and panic clawed at my throat. The realization hit me like a hammer: Lily had been chopping her brother, Finn, and the sound I heard was the sickening crack of bone.

As my eyes darted up, Lily turned to face me. Her expression was ghastly, her face as pale as death.

A twisted smile, as cold and empty as ever, played on her lips.

Her bloodless mouth moved, forming the words, "Honey?"

I stared at her, transfixed, as she approached. Her hands were stained with fresh blood.

My body felt frozen, and the sound in my throat was trapped, useless. She drew closer, and the darkness in my vision closed in on me.

The next thing I knew, I was blinking awake, the harsh light of day spilling through the window, yet it brought no warmth.

"Ahhh! Stay away from me!"

A scream split the air, sharp and high-pitched, and I jerked upright in bed, my heart hammering in my chest.

The bedroom. Was it just a dream?

"Darling? Are you awake? Come get up and have some breakfast. Why are you lying down like that last night?"

It was Lily's voice, but it wasn't the soothing tone I was used to. There was an eerie quality to it, one that sent a chill crawling down my spine. It was as though the words were dripping with something dark and cold, something from the depths of hell.

"Finn? Where's Finn?" My voice was hoarse, laced with fear I couldn't suppress.

"Oh, he had something to take care of, so he left early," she responded nonchalantly, as if it were nothing.

She turned to leave, her footsteps soft, almost too light, and I listened intently, waiting until the sounds faded.

Only when I was sure she had gone to work did I get up. My limbs felt heavy, my mind racing with confusion and dread.

I made my way to the storage room, only to be met with an odd calm. It was spotless, untouched, everything in its place, just as it always had been.

No blood, no sign of anything unusual.

"Darling, what are you doing here?"

Her voice drifted in from behind me, soft but chilling.

I spun around, stumbling back in panic. My heart pounded in my chest as I stammered, "Nothing, just... just came to look around."

Lily chuckled. She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around my waist, and rested her head against my shoulder.

"Are you still upset about yesterday, darling?" she murmured, her voice low and soothing.

"No. I'm not upset. Not at all." I forced the words out. The warmth of her body pressed into mine, and I could feel her body heat mingling with the cold sweat of fear crawling across my skin.

When she heard me say this, her grip tightened, and she pulled herself closer, her body like a vice.

"I have to go to the office. Something came up," I said abruptly, pushing her away, desperate to escape, to get out of this room, away from her.

"Honey, what's the rush?"

Her voice called after me, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.