Victor stood up and held out one hand to me while signing with the other, “Come.”

My stomach flipped, releasing a ton of butterflies as I took his hand. But I couldn’t say I wasn’t excited for this part of the evening too.

I’d kept my nose in those books while I was at college. But unlike Lena, I also knew how to let my hair down when it came time to party.

My father had been right, not just about black guys but American ones in general. They didn’t mind some junk in the trunk, especially when it came to hooking up. I’d never made time for a serious boyfriend, but I’d gained a lot more experience since Victor. I enjoyed sex, and I’d come to expect it at least once or twice a semester.

But this past year, it’d only been me and the handheld “back massager” I’d picked up at Bed Bath & Beyond. I was more than ready to get it on with someone who didn’t buzz when he was taking care of me.

Had I been mad about him showing up out of the blue earlier? Now I was beginning to think that my absent husband just might be the wedding anniversary gift I’d been needing.

I was actually smiling as he led me back into the house and through the kitchen. I even called out a cheery good night to Yaron, who was standing in the living room door as we headed toward the stairs—

I stopped short, goosebumps suddenly breaking out across my skin.

Wait….Why was Yaron in the living room?

He’d always made a big deal about not coming into the house unless I needed help with something like carrying groceries. I almost always only made dishes that didn’t require a knife because those were impossible to eat standing up with Yaron in the driveway.

Besides, it was after eight. That was when the night guard I’d never formally met was supposed to come on duty.

So what was Yaron still doing here then?

The question lodged in my throat, and a bad feeling came over me just as Victor let go of my hand.

“Come, I want you to watch this,” he signed. His face was a work of stone above his hands.

Then he headed into the living room.

Leaving me, his possession, to follow.

9

I didn’t want to follow. But in the end, I did, like a puppet on his string.

Yaron had pushed the couch back up against the wall the living room shared with the front hall. He’d made an empty space in the middle of the room. But why? Why?

“What’s going on?” I asked Yaron for some reason, even though it was Victor who’d told me to come in here.