Chapter 27

The key turned smoothly in the lock, a routine gesture I had mastered over the years. With a gentle push, the door finally opened, and a burst of air-conditioned cool air greeted me. My children"s lively chatter and laughter filled the room as they rushed past me into the living room. Angel ran to her dad, but he didn"t want to talk to her and told her to go to her room and play. I walked closer, feeling the weight of the heaviness that had filled my house lately. Matt"s form was unmoving on the couch, his eyes fixed on the TV screen. His crutches were leaning against the couch still, and I wondered if he had moved at all while I was gone.

"Matt?" My voice came out softer than intended, an involuntary reverence for the melancholy that seemed to drape over him like a shroud.

He didn"t stir, his eyes fixed on some invisible point beyond the ceiling. Angel refused to go to her room and tried again to get her father's attention, whom she had missed so desperately these past few days. Angel"s small arms wrapped around his leg in a burst of youthful exuberance, yet he barely registered her embrace. His world had shrunk to the cushions that cradled his brokenness.

"Did you manage to do your exercises today?" I prodded gently, setting down my purse and the weight of concern. "You know Dr. Dan told you to keep at it."

His voice was a low rumble, tired and edged with frustration. "I don"t want to," he said, turning his head away just as I leaned in, aiming for a kiss that never landed.

Ouch. That hurt.

"Where were you all day?" The question held a note of accusation, or maybe it was just longing, thinly veiled.

"Trying to help Sarah," I answered, watching his expression for any sign of the man who used to devour intrigue. "Her neighbor was found murdered too."

"Really?" For a fleeting moment, a spark ignited in his dull eyes. Interest. It was slight but unmistakable and fanned the embers of hope within me.

"Do you have a suspect?" he asked, and I couldn"t suppress the smile that curled my lips, even as it mingled with sorrow.

"Looking closely at the husband," I divulged, sidling closer to share this sliver of connection. "Do you want to help me go through the witness statements?"

The flicker of intrigue that had momentarily illuminated Matt"s face wavered as a shadow of remembrance crossed his face. I had missed this. I had missed us taking on cases together, solving them side by side, and even arguing about them. At least we were together, and at least he showed an interest in something. A shadow rushed over his eyes and turned off the light in them. He remembered the bullet that had stolen his mobility, the prognosis that caged his aspirations, and the reality that he might never be a detective again.

With a heavy sigh, he slumped back into the couch, surrendering to the gravity of his despair. The remote control became an extension of his retreat, turning up the volume to fill the void between us.

And there I stood, the silence of our home shattered by the indifferent chatter of the TV, feeling the distance between us grow as vast as the chasm between who we once were and who we had become.