“I am not staying long, Ethan,” Patricia said.
“I know, Mom. I will deal with it.”
He shifted the cake box into his other hand and reached for his phone to unlock the front door. Then he looked up — and froze.
The entrance was already standing open. The sidelight window beside it was shattered, the wooden frame splintered and broken.
Patricia clutched her handbag. “Did someone break in?”
Ethan pushed the door wider with a trembling hand. The camera from the hallway caught him stopping just inside the doorway. The white bakery box slipped from his fingers and burst open on the tile floor.
“Madison?” he called out.
A familiar, steady voice answered from the living room. “Stop right there, Ethan.”