THE NIGHT DAVID CAME HOME

Six hours earlier, David Cross had been smiling in the back seat of a taxi, holding a paper bag filled with gifts he had bought at the airport.

He had returned from Oslo two days early.

The consulting project had ended ahead of schedule, and he had decided not to tell anyone. He imagined Maya’s face when he walked through the door. He imagined lifting their six-week-old son, Noah, from the bassinet and whispering that his father had come home before midnight.

The city glittered with New Year’s Eve lights. Every restaurant seemed full. Couples hurried beneath umbrellas. Fireworks cracked somewhere across the river.

David checked his messages again.

Maya had not replied in eleven hours.

That was unusual, but not impossible. Noah had been restless lately, and Maya often fell asleep with her phone on silent. His mother, Evelyn, had promised to stay at the apartment while he was away. Serena had said she would bring groceries and help with laundry.

David had believed them.

That was the mistake he would remember for the rest of his life.

The taxi stopped outside the apartment building at 8:43 p.m. The doorman, Mr. Alvarez, glanced up from his desk and looked startled.

“Mr. Cross. I thought you were abroad.”

“Surprise,” David said, raising the gift bag. “Has everything been quiet?”

Mr. Alvarez hesitated.

That hesitation erased David’s smile.

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” the doorman said. “Your mother and sister left this afternoon with several suitcases. Mrs. Cross hasn’t come downstairs in days.”

David’s pulse quickened.

“What do you mean, several suitcases?”

“They said they were going to the airport. Your mother told me your wife was sick and didn’t want visitors.”

David took out his phone and called Maya again.

From somewhere above, faint through the building’s old ventilation system, he thought he heard a baby crying.

He did not wait for the elevator.

He ran up six flights of stairs.

At the apartment door, his key would not turn.

Someone had engaged the interior security latch.

“Maya?”

No answer.

He knocked harder.

“Noah?”

The baby’s cry rose, thin and desperate.

David stepped back and drove his shoulder into the door. The frame groaned but held. He struck it again. On the third attempt, the latch tore free and the door flew open.

The smell hit him first.

Sour milk. Dirty diapers. Stale air. Something metallic.

The lights were off except for the lamp above the stove.

“Maya!”

He found her near the kitchen table.

She was on her knees, one hand gripping the edge of a chair as if she had tried to stand. Her cheek was hollow. Her lips were cracked. A bruise darkened her temple. Her cardigan was torn at the shoulder, where blood had dried into the fabric.

The refrigerator stood open and empty.

The cabinets were bare.

Noah screamed from the bassinet.

David dropped the gifts.

He reached Maya just as she collapsed.

“What the hell did they do to you?”

Her eyes fluttered.

“David?”

“I’m here. I’m home.”

She tried to smile, but her body went limp.

David called emergency services with one hand while lifting Noah with the other. The baby felt frighteningly light. His diaper was soaked. The formula dispenser beside the bassinet was empty.

“Send an ambulance,” David said. “My wife is unconscious. My newborn hasn’t been fed properly. There’s blood. Please hurry.”

The operator asked questions, but David’s attention fixed on a small red light above the living-room shelf.

The security camera was still running.

His hands began to shake.

Evelyn had insisted he install cameras after a burglary in the building. She had said it would protect Maya and the baby.

Now David opened the security application.

The footage from that morning loaded.

He saw his mother standing in the kitchen wearing a fur-trimmed coat. Serena dragged a suitcase behind her.

Maya stood between them and the pantry.

“Please,” she said in the recording. “Leave Noah’s formula.”

Serena rolled her eyes.

“You have a bank card.”