The winter chill bit hard. John tightened his scarf and rushed Megan out of the front door. The garage spotlight, long-since on the blink, fought valiantly against the dark.
John slammed the door behind Megan as she slid onto the back seat. He climbed into the car himself and turned the ignition.
He took a short breath, then tried again.
Not even a splutter.
“It’s fine, dear. It’s fine.” He almost believed it himself.
She shifted behind him.
“Daddy,” Megan whispered softly. She hadn’t called him that since the day Andrea died.
“There’s a man sat next to me.”