Chapter 11 His side of the closet hung neat as always. Hers was a hollow-just a few lonely hangers swaying. The vanity was bare. Every bottle and jar had vanished. The polished top threw back a shard of cold light. His breath hitched. He rushed into the bathroom. His toothbrush stood alone in the cup. The little floral mug that was hers-gone. The soft pink towel she always left on the bar-gone too. Every trace of Angela Summers had been wiped clean, as if she'd never lived here at all. He stopped dead, heart crushed in an invisible fist. He checked the study, the spare room, the balcony. Nothing. No shadow of her anywhere. In the end, his gaze landed on the dining table. A familiar key lay there-house key-pinned beneath a slip of paper. He walked over like the floor might crack, picked up the note. Three words, written in a hand he knew by heart, neat and calm in a way that felt like finality itself: [ I'm gone. ] A thunderhead split inside his skull. Noise roared in his ears. Gone? She was really gone? It wasn't a tantrum or a ploy; she was truly gone. The woman he was sure could never leave him-the woman who, no matter how coldly he treated her, how thoroughly he ignored her, how sharply he hurt her, would cry in private, talk herself down, and stay-had actually left. He stood there with the feather-light paper in his fist and looked over a home cut in half, and for the first time felt something he'd taken for granted-something he'd barely respected-being pulled out of his life by the roots. The bedrock belief that she couldn't leave him cracked-deep and loud. Statue-still in the empty, echoing house, Gideon gripped the note until his knuckles went white. Elaine took in his face and the stripped-down rooms, joy sparking behind her eyes. Out loud she made her voice soft with concern. "Gideon... Angie is being so reckless. Walking out like this... what are we going to do?" She softened her tone further, deliberately soothing. "Don't worry. She probably needed space. A drive to Chapter 11 47.83% clear her head. She'll come back when she cools off. She always does," She always had. Gideon snapped back to himself. True-she'd stormed off before. The worst time, she'd even packed a bag and run back to her folks but within two days she'd find a way to save face, or his mother would coax her home. Yes. This was the same old play, only sharper. She wanted him rattled. He pressed the restless, unfamiliar panic down and dragged his usual control back into place. He picked up the phone and called his most trusted sergeant. His voice was iron. "Find her. Now. Check what train ticket she bought, where she's headed, and bring her back." Let's see how far she thought she could run. Without his say-so, she wasn't going anywhere. Florence Florence is a passionate reader who finds joy in long drives on rainy days. She's also a fan of Italian makeup tutorials, blending beauty and elegance into her everyday life.