Page 79 of Desperate Games

I move slowly down the long hallway, shutting off lights, closing doors one by one.

When I bought it, I was afraid this house would feel like just walls and stone.

I worried I wouldn’t be enough to make it a home. But with Andy here? I have nothing to worry about.

It’s like she makes this house—our house—feel alive.

Because Andy’s left her mark everywhere.

She found the little darkroom I had converted just for her—just in case she wanted it—and she actually used it. Developed photos I didn’t even know she took. Callie, grinning with mud on her cheeks. Me, mid-laugh in the kitchen. Both framed and hung.

They look good. Great. But there’s one missing. One of her.

I’ll fix that. Soon.

There’s more too—pillows, curtains, a bright red tea kettle, a whole army of travel cups because she can’t go anywhere without coffee.

Her clothes are a mess, tossed everywhere, but I don’t care. I’ll pick them up a thousand times over.

We’ve got a cleaning service for the big stuff—dishes, bathrooms, laundry.

I cook because I like cooking for her, feeding her, knowing she’s cared for.

Also, I like being a dad. To Callie. To our babies. Callie is a wonderful kid, and every day she cements herself further inside my heart.

I wish Renee could see how she’s turning out, but I have to believe that she can see it wherever she is, and I pray she’s found some peace.

But I don’t dwell long on the dead. I can’t. I have to take care of the living—no, I get to take care of them.

That feels better. Truer somehow.

I have someone else shop and a delivery service that comes daily for essentials and fresh produce and protein—all organic. The very best.

I do everything I can think of to keep busy, to bide my time, praying that Andy is asleep so I can creep into bed with her, leaving without a trace before she wakes like I do every morning.

But the second I reach our bedroom door, hand on the knob, everything changes.

I hear it.

Not her soft, nearly silent snores.

Something else. Mechanical.

A hum.

My brows pull together. My body goes tight. I turn the knob.

And nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for what’s waiting inside.

Andy.

My wife.

Naked. Gloriously naked. Her belly swollen with our babies. Her legs splayed.

One hand tugging at her tit, pulling her nipple, the other pressed between her thick thighs.

A little pink toy pressed against her glistening, soaked pussy.