Brian never said “no rush” unless there was very clearly a reason to rush.
My name is Ellen Marsh.
I’m forty-one, and I work as a purchasing manager for a manufacturing company.
After fourteen years in that job, I’ve become good at noticing the difference between a real problem and something pretending not to be a problem yet.
When I walked through my front door that evening, I knew instantly which kind I was looking at.
A four-foot section of our living-room wall was gone.
The couch had been pulled forward.
Pieces of drywall were stacked neatly beside the fireplace.
And Brian was standing beside the opening with a utility knife in his hand.
I stared at him.
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