Agent Moreau's face was somber.
"He was hired," she said softly. "We found messages on his phone. Instructions. A schedule. Payment details."
My heart fell into the void.
— By my husband?
Officer Moreau did not respond immediately.
But her eyes answered.
Another officer then approached with a tablet.
— Madam… your husband did book a flight. But he never took it. His car is here. We're launching a search.
Camille grabbed onto my shirt.
— Mom… Dad said… he said you wouldn’t be here anymore when it was all over.
I closed my eyes, swallowing the acid down my throat.
Because the worst part wasn't that a stranger had entered my home.
The thing was, Antoine had never left .
He was somewhere close enough to watch.
And as the police escorted us out, I saw him.
Just a second.
Through the living room window curtain.
A silhouette in the shadows, on the other side of the street.
The phone was raised.
As if he were filming.
Then she disappeared.
After this story, ask yourself an uncomfortable question:
Would you have acted differently… or exactly the same? ❤️
Don't tell me what's correct.
Tell me what's real: would you have laughed that day too? ❤️
