The man’s voice said, “Give me the phone right now.”
Rachel immediately started talking louder over him. She said, “Mom, please leave. Seriously. Just go home.” The way she said it sounded rehearsed, like she needed him to hear her saying it.
Then I heard something crash inside the house.
Not huge. More like a chair hitting the floor.
I walked straight to the front door and knocked hard enough that my knuckles hurt. Everything inside went dead quiet for a second before Rachel opened the door just a few inches. Her face looked swollen around one eye like she’d been crying for hours. Behind her I could see my grandson sitting on the living room rug holding his tablet completely silent.
Rachel kept saying everything was fine.
Then the man stepped into view behind her.
Not her husband.
I’d met her husband dozens of times. This man was older, heavier, shaved head, wearing my son-in-law’s flannel shirt. Rachel looked terrified the second he came closer to the door.
He smiled at me and said they were “just having an argument” and I needed to stop upsetting her. I asked where Rachel’s husband was.
Nobody answered.
Then my grandson suddenly said, “Daddy’s at Grandpa Steve’s because Uncle Brent broke the garage window.”
Rachel shut the door immediately after that.
I stayed in my car across the street another forty minutes before Rachel finally came outside carrying a trash bag. She walked it to the tipped-over garbage cans and stuffed something down between them while looking around the street first.
The second she went back inside, I walked over there myself.
Inside the trash bag was Rachel’s old laptop, a broken cell phone, and a framed family photo with her husband’s face smashed through the glass.
Taped to the back of the frame was a handwritten note that said, “Check the Verizon account before he deletes everything again.”
The account password written underneath was Brent1987.