PART 1
“That bald woman shouldn’t let herself be seen when we have company!”
I heard my brother Godfrey yelling before I even walked through the door.
In the backyard, Phedra was on her knees gathering pieces of a broken plate with her bare hands. Her head was shaved. Her cheekbones looked hollow. A bucket of dirty water sat beside her feet.
“Pick up the pieces properly, Phedra,” my mother, Selina, called from the living room. “If someone cuts themselves, I’m taking it out of your food.”
I stopped behind the fence with my suitcase still in my hand.
No one knew I was home.
A shutdown at the metalworking shop in Calgary had given us several unexpected weeks off. My coworkers went to visit family. I bought a ticket that same night because I wanted to surprise my wife.
For four years, I’d worked twelve-hour shifts, eaten reheated meals in a shop that smelled like burnt metal, and spent winters that cracked my lips. Every month, I sent between two and three thousand dollars to Selina’s bank account.
The money was supposed to finish the house, build our future, and take care of Phedra while I was gone. Altogether, I’d sent almost a hundred thousand dollars, plus a bonus every December.
I never questioned it.
I trusted my mother. I trusted Godfrey. Most of all, I believed my wife was safe.
During our video calls, Phedra always said, “I’m fine, my love. Don’t worry.”
Then, a few months ago, she stopped turning on her camera. Bad internet, she said. An old phone. She was tired.
Now I knew why.
Phedra tried to stand, but her legs buckled. Godfrey came outside in new designer clothes holding a glass of scotch.
“Hurry up. We still need the dinner plates.”
“I feel dizzy,” Phedra whispered. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
Godfrey laughed. “With everything you stole, you should be able to buy yourself a feast.”
Every part of me wanted to charge through that door.
But years around failing machines had taught me something: when something starts breaking down, listen before you touch it. The noise tells you where the failure began.
