Chapter 11: The Sunshine Facad

The late-afternoon light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the house on the quiet street just off Jacksonville Beach, turning the pale walls the color of warm sand. Mace stood at the kitchen island in a black polo and jeans, scrolling through a tablet while the coffee maker hissed. Across from him, Emily moved barefoot between the fridge and the counter, still in the soft navy scrubs she’d worn to the clinic. At thirty-five she carried a fuller, softer body than she had ten years ago—curves that filled the top and hips that swayed when she walked—and the thin fabric did nothing to hide it. Mace’s eyes tracked her the way they always did.

Their thirteen-year-old son was upstairs with headphones on, finishing homework before dinner. The house smelled like citrus cleaner and the salt air that drifted in when the windows were cracked. From the outside it looked like any other successful couple’s life: Mace’s private security firm doing steady commercial work, Emily’s nursing job at the beachside clinic, a kid who thought his parents had always been the quiet, reliable people who never raised their voices and never stayed out past ten.