When Sharon returned to her bedroom, Ethan was leaning back on the armchair, wearing noise-canceling headphones. One hand rested lazily on his knee, his fingers tapping out a slow, rhythmic beat. He was staring down at the floor, his face shadowed, a sub

It was a chilling sight.

Sharon had only ever seen scenes like this in crime dramas, where police units scavenged through vast landfills in search of missing evidence or buried remains.

Yet seeing it in real life felt utterly surreal.

She didn't even

When Sharon stepped out of the bathroom, she found Ethan fast asleep on the armchair with his eyes closed—the very same chair he had occupied yesterday.

He seemed to have spent the entire previous night curled up on it because of his stomach ach