Epilogue
SHADE
Kaito was going to kill me, but it would be worth all his nagging about how much it cost when he saw the painting I’d found in the old, cluttered antique shop on my way home from work.
I’d never seen Osaka where he was from, but I recognised it instantly when I saw the canvas.
The beautiful scene rendered in loving brushstrokes showed the city where my love’s mother was born, before she fled Kaito’s controlling father.
Our home wasn’t in the greatest area, and I got a few odd looks for the big canvas I carried under my arm, but it would be worth it to give my love this little piece of his culture. Himari would love it, too, when she visited us next week.
It took a bit of work to open the worn latch of the gate with the painting under my arm, and it was even harder to close the damn thing. I nearly dropped it twice before I reached the front door, key in hand and—the door was already open.
Hairs rose on the back of my neck. We never left this door open. Never even left it unlocked.
I laid my hand on the flaking blue paint and pushed, the squeal of hinges as the door opened making my heart run faster. Its beat faltered when I saw it had been forced, and the lock had ripped out shards of wood.
“Kaito?” I yelled, abandoning the painting in the hallway and not even stopping to close the front door.
I physically threw myself into the small sitting room, then the kitchen, my stomach dropping.
They were empty, still, too damn quiet. I shouted his name again and took the stairs two at a time.
I collided with the wall at the top, but I didn’t even feel the pain.
There were scents here—bitter and greedy. Unfamiliar.
“Kaito!” I yelled again, my voice ragged.
I swung around the banister into our bedroom.
Breathing was impossible when I saw the room had been trashed.
The dresser was on an angle by the door, like my love had tried to barricade himself in.
Lamps lay broken on the floor, clothes scattered everywhere, and when my tentative step crunched glass underfoot, my heart sank at the photo frame I found shattered.
I picked it up with shaking hands, and there was my love smiling up at me, his arm thrown around my shoulders on our first anniversary.
With a lump in my throat, I carried the photo into the bathroom, my final hope that he was still here. I knew before I pushed open the door that I wouldn’t find Kaito there.
Someone had broken into our home and taken my husband.
Thank you so much for reading Jessia and Devil’s story.