“Where are my clothes? And my shoes?”
He glanced at the closet.
“Somewhere safe.”
“Oh. I moved some things around while I was cleaning.”
“Where did you put them?”
“Somewhere safe. I’ll bring everything back soon.”
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I frowned.
“You know, I finally discovered how many pairs you own,” he said. “I stopped counting at thirty. I was afraid the number might affect our marriage.”
“Nothing’s damaged.”
Ordinarily, I would’ve laughed. Wesley had always teased me about my love of fashion. Once, he’d suggested my shoes needed their own ZIP code.
But I wasn’t laughing now.
His smile faded. “I’m sorry. Nothing’s damaged, I promise.”
He kissed my forehead and left.
Something shiny caught my eye.
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I stared at the half-empty closet, remembering Hannah’s warning. For the first time, I wondered whether the missing clothes and those mysterious women were connected.
