Clara walked to the counter and picked up the pair of shoes she had dropped. She looked at them again. They were scuffed at the toe. Someone had walked miles in these. If they weren’t hers, and if Julian and Leo were… that… then who was the woman whose ghost occupied the entryway?
“Clara.”
The voice came from the bedroom doorway. It was Julian. He had thrown on a robe, the belt tied loosely, his hair a mess of sleep and secrets. He didn’t look like a villain. He looked like a man who had been holding his breath for four months and had finally run out of air.
“Who do those belong to?” Clara asked, her voice dangerously steady. She held up the shoes.
Julian leaned against the doorframe, his face shadowed. “They belonged to your sister, Clara. Before she passed. I… I found them in the storage unit while you were away. I brought them here because I missed the sound of someone else walking in this house. I missed the idea of a family that worked.”
