Chapter 4

I was folding Clayton's shirts when I caught it—a scent that didn't belong to him or our laundry detergent. It was subtle but unmistakable: a floral perfume with undertones of vanilla and something sharper, more exotic. My hands stilled on the crisp cotton of his button-down.

This wasn't the first time I'd noticed it. For weeks, I'd been catching whiffs of this same scent in our car, lingering on Clayton's jackets, even in our bedroom. I'd convinced myself I was imagining things, that it was just a new cleaning product or something innocent.

But now, as I held his shirt…