Chapter 5 - Shadows of Audrey
The Vance house sat on the quiet outskirts of Maple Ridge, where the paved suburban sidewalks surrendered to gravel driveways and towering stands of white pine. It was a modest, single-story ranch home built in the late 1970s, painted a faded slate blue with crisp white trim that Mark repainted every two years with fanatical precision.
That night, after the concert had ended—after the applause had faded and Goldie had received her small paper cup of fruit punch—Mark drove home in complete silence.
The old Ford truck hummed along the dark country roads, its headlights cutting through the damp mist rising from the riverbanks. In the passenger seat, Goldie was already fast asleep, her small body curled sideways against the vinyl door panel, her heavy golden braid draped over the back of the seat like an exhausted passenger of its own.
Mark glanced at her at every stop sign. He looked at the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the soft curve of her cheek, and the sheer mass of hair pooled around her shoulder.
*Mom wouldn't want it to be heavy.*
The little girl’s words echoed through the cavern of his mind, over and over, rattling against the walls of his heart like loose ball bearings in an iron drum.
May you like
When they arrived home, Mark didn't wake her. He stepped out into the crisp evening air, walked around to the passenger side, and carefully slid his arms beneath her knees and back, lifting her into his chest. She was nine years old—growing taller by the month, losing the soft pudginess of early childhood—yet she felt impossibly fragile in his arms. Her braid slipped over his forearm, hanging toward the damp gravel, brushing against the tops of his work boots as he carried her up the front porch steps.
He carried her into her bedroom, laid
