He was gone, one shoe left behind collecting dust in the closet.
A slap of heel against the threshold and the door slam behind, sounds she remembered as he slipped into the dense dark of night, the emptiness lingering in the hollows of her eyes.
He looked back as she steadied the scope on the rifle. A little to the right and an explosion ripped through murky sky.
“Must have been a car backfiring,” she told the cop when she took his parka and hung it in the closet above the one shoe left behind.