The first thing Ethan Carter noticed was that the front door was unlocked.

His mother never left it unlocked.

Not on Maple Street.

Not even in the middle of the afternoon.

Ethan stood on the porch with his overnight bag hanging from one shoulder and stared at the brass doorknob.

He had driven down from Columbus without telling Maggie he was coming.

His last repair job had been canceled, and for once, instead of spending another night alone above the garage, he had decided to surprise his mother.

He almost knocked.

Then something crashed inside.

Ethan froze.

A woman's voice followed.

"Let go of me!"

His mother's voice.

Ethan dropped the bag.

He shoved the door open.

"Mom?"

No answer.

He crossed the narrow hallway in three strides.

The living room looked almost exactly as it had when he was a teenager. The same faded curtains. The same wooden cabinet his father had built. The same ugly green sofa Maggie had refused to replace for fifteen years.

But the scene in front of it made everything else disappear.

Maggie Carter was pressed against the sofa cushions.

Richard Hale stood over her, one hand locked around her wrist.

Her gray-blond hair had come loose around her face.

"Richard, you're hurting me."

"Then stop fighting me."

Ethan stopped in the doorway.

Richard looked up.

Maggie did too.

The color drained from her face.

"Ethan."

Richard released her wrist.

Not quickly enough.

Ethan had already seen the red marks around it.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Richard straightened.

At sixty-one, he was still a large man, broad through the shoulders, with silver at his temples and the carefully controlled appearance of someone who wanted strangers to consider him respectable.

"Watch your mouth in my house."

Ethan stared at him.

"Your house?"

"Ethan, please."

Maggie tried to stand.

Richard reached toward her again.

Ethan moved.

"Don't touch her."

Richard gave a humorless laugh.

"You come barging through my door and think you can give orders?"

Ethan stepped between them.

"Let go of my mother."

"I already did."

"Then back away."

"This is none of your business."

Ethan's jaw tightened.

"She's my mother. That makes it my business."

Richard stepped closer.

Maggie grabbed Ethan's arm.

"Please. Both of you."

Ethan looked at her.

There was fear in her eyes.

But it wasn't only fear of Richard.

She was afraid of what Ethan might do.

That realization hurt almost as much as seeing the marks on her wrist.

Richard pointed toward the front door.

"Get out."

Ethan didn't move.

"Mom, get your coat."

"Ethan—"

"Get your coat."

Richard shoved him.

It happened fast.

Ethan stumbled half a step, caught himself, and pushed Richard away from him.

Richard came forward again.

This time Ethan grabbed his shoulders and drove him backward until Richard hit the wall.

A framed family photograph fell sideways.

Maggie screamed.

"Stop!"

Ethan released Richard immediately.

Richard stayed against the wall, breathing hard.

Ethan stood between him and Maggie.

"If you ever put your hands on her again—"

"What?" Richard snapped. "You'll kill me?"

"No."

Ethan's voice dropped.

"I'll make sure she never has to see you again."

Richard's expression changed.

For one second, the anger disappeared.

Something colder replaced it.

"You don't know what you're walking into, kid."

"I'm thirty-two."

"Then you're old enough to know you shouldn't interfere in things you don't understand."

Maggie was crying now.

Ethan turned away from Richard.

That was deliberate.

He wanted Richard to understand that he was no longer the most important person in the room.

Ethan crouched beside the sofa.

"Mom."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

"It was just an argument."

Ethan looked at her wrist.

"Arguments don't leave fingerprints."

Maggie covered the marks with her sleeve.

Ethan felt his stomach turn.

"How long?"

She looked away.

"Mom. How long has this been happening?"

"It hasn't."

"Maggie."

Richard's voice came from behind them.

"Don't."

Ethan stood.

"Say her name again and see what happens."

"Ethan!"

His mother's sharp voice stopped him.

She rose unsteadily.

"I need everyone to stop."

Silence filled the room.

Maggie wiped her cheeks.

She looked suddenly older than fifty-eight.

"I'm going with Ethan."

Richard's face hardened.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm going."

"You walk out that door, don't expect to come back whenever you feel like it."

Maggie stared at him.

Ethan waited for her to answer.

Instead, she lowered her eyes.

That told him more than any explanation could have.

He went upstairs.

He knew exactly where her old suitcase was kept.

Ten minutes later, Ethan carried it down with a handful of clothes stuffed inside.

Richard hadn't moved.

Maggie stood near the door.

She looked at the living room one last time.

Her eyes lingered on the green sofa.

Then on the photograph hanging crooked beside Richard.

Thomas Carter was in that picture.

Ethan's father.

He had been dead for six years.

"Ready?" Ethan asked.

Maggie nodded.

Outside, the October air felt colder than it had twenty minutes earlier.

Ethan put the suitcase in his truck.

Maggie climbed into the passenger seat.

She didn't speak until they had driven three blocks.

"I'm sorry."

Ethan glanced at her.

"For what?"

"You shouldn't have had to see that."

"That's what you're apologizing for?"

She pressed her lips together.

"Mom, you don't apologize to me because somebody hurt you."

Her eyes filled again.

"I should have told you."

"Yes."

The word came out harder than he intended.

Maggie flinched.

Ethan immediately softened his voice.

"But we'll deal with that later."

He reached across the console and squeezed her hand.

"You're not going back there."

Maggie stared through the windshield.

"Ethan."

"No."

"You don't understand."

"Then explain it."

She didn't.

He drove toward Riverton Community Hospital.

A minute passed.

Then two.

Suddenly Maggie sat upright.

"Oh, God."

"What?"

"My bag."

"I got your medication."

"Not that bag."

"What are you talking about?"

She grabbed his forearm.

"We have to go back."

Ethan looked at her in disbelief.

"Absolutely not."

"Ethan, please."

"I'm not taking you back to that house."

"There's something there."

"What?"

Maggie looked over her shoulder as though Richard could somehow hear them from three blocks away.

"Your father's desk."

"What about it?"

"There's an envelope inside."

Ethan slowed at a red light.

"What envelope?"

Maggie's fingers tightened around his arm.

"Your father left something before he died."

"What?"

"I don't know exactly."

"You don't know?"

"He told me never to let anyone have it unless I decided to sell the house."

The light turned green.

Ethan didn't move until the driver behind him honked.

"Mom, what does that have to do with Richard?"

Maggie began trembling.

Ethan had never seen that expression on her face before.

Not even at his father's funeral.

"Richard has been looking for it."

"Why?"

She swallowed.

"Because the house isn't his."

"I know that."

"No, Ethan."

She looked directly at him.

"You don't understand."

Her voice broke.

"Richard has been trying to make it his."