“Jess?” I called out, my voice louder than I intended, echoing through the empty rooms.
Nothing came back but my own voice and that relentless ticking clock.
My heart started hammering as I moved through our small ranch house in suburban Ohio, each step producing a soft thud from my prosthetic leg on the hardwood floors. The bedroom door stood open—unusual, since Jess always kept it closed when she was tidying up.
I stepped inside and my breath caught.
Jess’s side of the closet was completely bare. Those floral hangers she’d insisted on buying from Target, the ones I’d teased her about because they matched nothing in our room, swayed slightly as if they’d been recently disturbed. Her weekend duffel bag was missing from the top shelf. Most of her shoes—gone.
The practical flats she wore to her job at the library. The sneakers she’d just bought for morning walks. Even the heels she only wore to weddings.
