be moving into our home.
That was when I realized the evening had been planned long before they walked through the door.
My name is Claire Bennett. I had been married to Ryan Bennett for nine years. Our six-year-old son, Ethan, sat beside me at the walnut dining table while four-year-old Sophie complained that the chicken on her plate had somehow been cut into pieces that were “too square.”
Ryan’s mother, Margaret, was there for dinner, along with his younger brother, Daniel.
Then footsteps approached through the hallway.
Two sets.
