Part 4: The Empty Room
I froze on the threshold of our bedroom, my eyes scanning the polished hardwood floors, the walk-in closet, and the adjoining master bathroom. Everything was meticulously arranged, exactly as it always was, but there was no sign of life. The duvet was pulled taut, undisturbed, and the digital clock on the bedside table glowed coldly: 5:14 AM.
If Claire hadn't slept in our bed, where was she?
Panic, sharp and visceral, surged through my veins. I walked quickly to the bathroom and pushed the door open. The vanity was bare except for her hairbrush and a bottle of specialized lotion. No damp towels, no running water, no sound.
"Claire?" I called out, my voice echoing off the tile walls.
Silence answered me.
I stepped back into the bedroom, my gaze falling upon her nightstand. Next to a half-empty glass of water sat her phone, plugged into the charger. I picked it up immediately, my thumb hitting the screen. The display lit up, showing the notification center. The last text message she had sent me—asking for the ginger candies—was still displayed on the lock screen. But below it, there were no other recent notifications. No missed calls, no alarms set for the morning.
How could she leave her phone behind? Claire never went anywhere without it, especially now in her eighth month of pregnancy, when her doctor insisted she remain reachable at all times.
The sound of footsteps approaching down the hallway made me turn. My mother appeared in the doorway, her expression carefully neutral, though her eyes darted quickly around the empty room before settling on me.
"She isn't here, Arthur," my mother stated, as if she were simply reading items off an inventory list rather than discussing her daughter-in-law's mysterious disappearance.
"Where is she, Mother?" I demanded, stepping toward her, the frustration and fear boiling over into raw anger. "Her bed hasn't been slept in. Her phone is right here on the nightstand. She's eight months pregnant—she can't just walk out of the house at five in the morning without shoes, let alone her phone!"
My mother sighed softly, a gesture meant to convey infinite patience in the face of my irrational anxiety. "Arthur, calm yourself. You are letting your exhaustion from the flight cloud your judgment. Claire has been... erratic lately. The stress of the upcoming birth, combined with her delicate emotional state, has caused her to do unusual things."
"Unusual things?" I repeated, my voice rising. "What are you talking about? What has she done?"
"She has been taking midnight walks around the lower gardens," my mother said smoothly, crossing her arms over her silk robe. "She claims the cool air helps with her circulation. I told her repeatedly that it was unsafe, but you know how stubborn she can be when she gets an idea in her head. Perhaps she went down to the greenhouse."
The explanation sounded rehearsed, too neat, too defensive. My mother had never approved of Claire; she had spent the last three years subtly undermining our marriage, dropping passive-aggressive hints about Claire's background and her supposed unsuitability to manage the Vance estate.
"At five in the morning? In the dark? Without her phone?" I shook my head, stepping past my mother and heading back toward the stairs. "No. Something is wrong. I'm checking the security cameras."
"The system is currently down for routine maintenance," my mother called out sharply from the doorway.
I stopped dead in my tracks and turned back to look at her. "Maintenance? At five in the morning on a Thursday?"
May you like
"The technician arrived late last night," she replied without blinking an eye. "Now, Arthur, stop panicking. Let us search the property rationally. I am sure we will find her in the conservatory or the east parlor."
Despite her words, the absolute coldness in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. The security system wasn't down for maintenance. And Claire wasn't taking a casual stroll in the garden.
