Nobody knew I had come home.
A temporary shutdown at the metalworking plant in Calgary had given us several unexpected weeks off. Most of my coworkers went to see their families. I bought a ticket that same night because I wanted to surprise my wife.
For four years, I had worked twelve-hour shifts, eaten reheated meals in a shop that smelled of scorched metal, and endured winters cold enough to split my lips. Every month, I sent between two and three thousand dollars to Selina’s bank account.
That money was supposed to finish the house, secure our future, and care for Phedra while I was away.
Altogether, I had sent almost a hundred thousand dollars, plus a bonus every December.
I never questioned where it went.
I trusted my mother.
I trusted Godfrey.
Most of all, I believed my wife was safe.
During our video calls, Phedra always told me, “I’m fine, my love. Don’t worry.”
