Early the next day, I left with my suitcase, parking my car blocks away at a mall before hailing a cab home. Entering through the building's rear entrance, hat pulled low like a thief, I slipped inside our silent apartment. Lily was out. I sank into the sofa's shadows, timing crawling by as I waited in tense, chilled stillness. Evening brought Lily's return—she cooked a simple dinner, watched TV. At eight o'clock, my pulse quickened.
Sounds Behind the Door
Familiar footsteps approached, Lily calling Charlie's name. His paws pattered after her; the study door shut and locked. I sprang from the sofa, padding barefoot to the door and pressing my ear against it. Muffled whispers drifted out at first, Lily guiding gently. Then the mood shifted. "Tsk! Wrong again!" Her voice rose abruptly, edged with suppressed frustration. "How many times? Feet! Watch your feet! Not like that!" A dull thud followed, then Charlie's piercing yelp—a cry of pain and terror that shattered my restraint.
Breaking Down the Door
Charlie's shriek pierced my heart. Reason evaporated, replaced by a single imperative: Save him! I braced my shoulder, muscles coiling like a bull's, and charged the locked door—my nightmare incarnate. With a thunderous crash, the frame groaned, the lock shattered, and the door flew open. Impact flung me stumbling inside, gasping for breath as I steeled myself for the worst.
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