My throat closed.
It was my ex-husband’s brother. Julian.
But after the divorce, after everything fell apart, he vanished. Didn’t answer calls, didn’t show up at birthdays, didn’t even send a card. I assumed he wanted distance from the whole mess.
And now he was in my house.
Cleaning.
Buying groceries.
Letting himself in at three in the morning.
I stepped out from behind the couch before fear could talk me out of it.
“What,” I said, my voice shaking, “are you doing here?”
Julian froze. The bowl he held clattered into the sink. He turned slowly, eyes wide, face pale.
“Of course I’m awake!” I snapped. “Why are you here? How are you getting inside my house?”
He swallowed hard, staring at the floor. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t want to scare you.”
“You broke into my home!”
“I didn’t break in.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. A small, worn silver key.
I felt sick. “How do you have that?”
“You gave it to me,” he said quietly. “Years ago. You asked me to check on the house when you and your ex went on that trip to Oregon. I kept it on my keychain and… I guess I forgot to return it.”
“That was eight years ago,” I whispered.
“Then why—why now? Why show up in the middle of the night like some sort of—” I gestured vaguely “—fairy god-janitor?”
A breathy laugh escaped him, self-deprecating and sad.
“I didn’t know any other way to help.”
“Help?” My voice softened despite myself. “Julian… what’s going on?”
He leaned on the counter, running a hand over his face. He looked exhausted—deep lines under his eyes, shoulders slumped. “I’ve been working nights. Long shifts. I’d pass by your street on the way home. Every time, I’d see your lights still on at two or three in the morning. Sometimes I’d see you sitting at the table with papers everywhere, or lying on the couch looking completely drained.” Continue reading…
