Kenzo shook his head. “He said it would look like an accident. And he said… ‘no mistakes this time.’”

People streamed past us, unaware that my entire world had just tilted on its axis. The man I thought I knew — the man I married, the father of my child — suddenly felt like a stranger wearing a mask.

I didn’t question Kenzo.
I didn’t doubt him.
Not for a second.

“We’re not going home,” I said softly, steadying my voice. “Not tonight.”

My heart did a strange flip in my chest. I crouched down in front of him, holding his little arms.

“What do you mean, baby? Of course we’re going home. It’s late. You need to sleep, don’t you?”

His voice came out louder, desperate. A few people turned their heads to look at us. He swallowed hard and continued, now in an urgent whisper.

“Mama, please, we can’t go back. Believe me this time, please.”

This time.