“I can’t remember the exact address of her parents’ house. You don’t happen to have it? I can call Natalie.” I take out my phone, start to press some numbers.

“I have it right here. Give me one minute.”

A moment later, I have Natalie’s parents’ address and am driving to Asbury Park.

She left. She clearly wanted to get away from me, but that wasn’t happening before I found out she was pregnant and it’s not happening now.

The sleepy town is dark when I arrive. I wonder how many residents leave in the winter. This close to the water and the weather can be icy. I do like it here though. It’s charming and the quiet is so opposite my life.

Natalie’s parents live on a cul-de-sac. Street lights give a dim glow to the otherwise pitch-black night. I park the car on the curb in front of her parents’ house. All the houses, including this one, are perfectly dark. I get out of the car and walk to the front door of the quaint yellow house, realizing how late it is as I climb the porch steps to ring the doorbell. But nothing happens when I push the button. Not a sound. I wonder if it’s broken.

I try the doorknob, expecting it to be locked, and it is.

Glancing around, I go down the porch steps and head around back. The backyard isn’t fenced off and it’s sandy back here. I can hear waves breaking on the beach and turn my collar up against the bitter wind.

Three steps lead up to the kitchen door. I knock on the window but no one’s inside. It’s dark. I jiggle the doorknob and it’s locked. I don’t want to break in, but seeing no alternative because I’m not about to go searching under freaking pots of plants for a spare key, I do. With my elbow, I bust the glass in one of the four panes, hear the clinking of it as it drops to the kitchen floor. I reach in, twist my arm to find the lock, turn it. I open the door and step over the glass and into the house.

No one seems to have heard my entrance. I make my way from the small but cozy kitchen to the dining room. I peek into the empty living room and turn and head up the stairs. They’re wooden and I’m careful so they don’t creak heavily. Four doors are closed on the landing. I open the first one to peek inside. It’s the master bedroom and, to my surprise, it’s empty. I push the door wider, confused. The curtains are open, the bed stripped bare, two pillows and a thick comforter folded neatly on top.