From the hall below came the sound of Judith’s heels clicking across the oak floor toward the kitchen, then the soft rattle of catering trays being packed into boxes.

I sat on the edge of Maisie’s bed and watched her shoulders slowly rise and fall beneath the heavy blanket.

The house went quiet around us, cold and still in the late autumn night.

I knew Cole wouldn’t be home until after midnight.

I laid my hand softly on Maisie’s little back and felt the steady rhythm of her breathing in the quiet dark.

Downstairs, a single glass dropped and smashed on the kitchen floor, and Brooke’s light laugh floated up through the air vents.