Kennedy was helped back home by Suzanne, limping as he leaned on her for support. He needed to rest and recover from his injuries.
He was frustrated and planned to question Marianne about what she had been so busy with, wondering why she hadn't come to see him.
But the moment he opened the door, a chilling emptiness washed over him. The house felt… off.
"Marianne? Are you home?"
He hobbled to the master bedroom, only to find the door wide open, and the bed linens for two had been cut in half.
He turned to the wardrobe, yanked it open, and was met with shelves emptied of Marianne's clothes and jewelry.
"Uncle Ken," Suzanne muttered cautiously. "Looks like Aunt Marianne took everything with her. She must have found a rich man. Is she really that short of money…"
She trailed off as soon as she saw the storm brewing in his expression.
Kennedy moved toward the photo wall in the hallway—every picture of Marianne was gone.
Suddenly, her words a few days ago echoed in his mind.
"Kennedy, let's break up."
Could she have meant it?
"Marianne? Where are you?" he called out anxiously, and then his gaze fell on an old trophy on the bookshelf.
The scratches carved into it were deep and jagged. Bloodstains marred the surface, dried but still vivid.
She'd done this. She was serious.
"Why?" he whispered. "Marianne, how could 10 years of love be lost to some sugar daddy?"
In a fit of rage, he slammed his fist into the bookshelf, sending books and newspapers scattering across the floor.
Then something caught his eye—a folded piece of paper with the logo of Seattle Medical Center.
It seemed to be… an ultrasound report.
His hands trembled as he unfolded it, eyes scanning the lines. His hand began trembling uncontrollably, and his expression turned fearful and desperate.
