#suspense

The red envelope arrived on a Tuesday, which was her first clue something had gone terribly wrong.

Olivia had stopped checking her mailbox months ago. After the divorce, after the foreclosure notice, after her mother's funeral—what was the point? Bills could wait. Creditors could wait. The whole world could wait while she figured out how to breathe again.

But today, something made her open the rusted metal door. Perhaps it was the way morning light caught the edge of the box, or the strange silence that had settled over her street. Either way, her fingers closed around the crimson envelope, and she knew—

The apartment smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions when I woke to find Marcus gone. Again.

His note sat on the kitchen counter:

Meet me at the lighthouse. Midnight. Come alone.