— “Nonsense!” Rob interrupted. “He’s my brother. I’m not leaving him alone on a day like this.”
He walked into the office without knocking. He looked the same as always: expensive suit, confident stride, a practiced look of sympathy. But in his eyes—cold, calculating eyes—there wasn’t a drop of genuine pity.
— “Andy,” he said, squaring his shoulders, “you look terrible.”
— “Long day,” Andrew replied quietly, struggling to keep the tremor out of his voice. “All these years… and it still feels like yesterday.”
— “I know,” Rob said, stepping closer. He set a bottle on the desk and pulled out two glasses. “To them. To Sarah. To the boy.”
Andrew watched the amber liquid pour into the glass, thinking about how easily this man had poured poison into his life. With the same practiced gesture, Rob took a sip. His eyes scanned the desk and stopped. On the child’s drawing.
The piece of paper, folded in half, with faded colors. A girl with yellow hair, a boy, and a dog.
— “What’s this?” he asked, reaching out casually.
— “Don’t touch that,” Andrew said sharply. Too sharply.
Rob froze. His fingers hovered over the paper. He turned slowly. The mask of the caring relative cracked, revealing something cold and predatory underneath.
— “An old memory?” he asked softly.
Andrew forced his shoulders to relax.
— “One of Ethan’s drawings. Found it in a box.”
— “Really?” Rob narrowed his eyes. “Strange. The paper looks remarkably fresh.”
Andrew didn’t answer. He looked directly at his brother-in-law and, for the first time in years, saw him clearly.
— “You’ve changed,” Rob said, pouring himself another. “You used to wear your heart on your sleeve.”
— “The heart wears out, Rob,” Andrew replied. “Sometimes all that’s left is the silence.”
— “Silence is a good thing,” Rob smirked. “It doesn’t ask questions.”
For a moment, the room was deathly quiet. Only the grandfather clock in the hall ticked away the seconds like a countdown.
— “I heard you hired a new maid,” Rob said suddenly.
Andrew tensed.
— “What about it?”
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