ᯓ★ In 1958, everybody in town trusted Rafe Cameron.

That was the terrifying part.

Because Rafe Cameron wasn’t some drifter passing through town or strange man lurking in alleyways.

No—

he was respectable.

A successful businessman. Owner of Cameron & Co. Shipping. Always dressed perfectly in pressed suits with polished shoes and that charming smile wives whispered about after church.

He donated money to charities. Shook hands with policemen. Kissed you goodbye every morning in front of neighbors like the perfect husband from magazine advertisements.

Nobody would ever suspect him.

⋆˙⟡ —

Meanwhile the town was falling apart.

Women kept disappearing.

First it was a waitress from the diner near Main Street.

Then a secretary.

Then somebody’s wife from the next town over.

The newspapers called him: THE HARBOR KILLER.

Bodies kept turning up near the docks.

Always at night.

Always brutal enough that mothers suddenly started locking doors before sunset.

And honestly?

You were terrified.

⋆˙⟡ —

Especially because you had children now.

A little boy and a little girl sleeping safely upstairs while fear spread through town like wildfire.

Every creak in the house startled you. Every unfamiliar car passing outside made your stomach drop.

So naturally—

you clung to Rafe constantly.

And he let you.

⋆˙⟡ —

One stormy night, rain hammered against the windows while the radio quietly reported another missing woman downtown.

You immediately turned it off.

“I hate this,” you whispered shakily.

Rafe glanced up from loosening his tie beside the bed.

“You’re alright, baby.”

“What if he comes here?”

Rafe’s expression softened instantly hearing the fear in your voice.

He crossed the room slowly before sitting beside you on the mattress, large hands pulling you gently against his chest.

“He won’t.”

“But what if—”

“He won’t,” Rafe repeated calmly, kissing the top of your head. “And if he’s stupid enough to try…” His arm tightened around you slightly. “They’ll have to get through me first to hurt you guys.”

Your chest warmed immediately hearing that.

Because Rafe always sounded so certain.

So safe.

That deep steady voice somehow made everything feel okay again.

⋆˙⟡ —

And honestly?

He was the perfect husband.

Attentive. Protective. Patient whenever your anxiety got bad.

If you woke from nightmares, Rafe held you until you fell asleep again. If the children got scared during storms, he checked every lock in the house personally before bed.

“You see?” he’d murmur softly. “Nobody’s gettin’ in here.”

And you believed him.

Everybody did.

⋆˙⟡ —

The only strange thing—

was how calm he stayed through all of it.

While the entire town panicked, Rafe never seemed frightened.

Not once.

Even when another body appeared near the harbor.

Even when police officers started knocking door-to-door asking questions.

Rafe only stood in the kitchen afterward pouring himself coffee calmly while you nervously watched through the curtains.

“Aren’t you scared at all?” you asked quietly.

He looked at you for a moment.

Then smiled faintly.

“No,” he said smoothly. “Not really.”

At the time, you thought it meant he felt strong enough to protect you.

You didn’t notice the fresh scratch marks hidden beneath the sleeve of his dress shirt.

Or why he came home so late some nights smelling faintly like seawater and cigarettes.

⋆˙⟡ —

That night, thunder shook the house hard enough to wake you suddenly.

Disoriented, you reached beside you instinctively—

Only to realize Rafe wasn’t in bed.

Your stomach dropped instantly.

The hallway downstairs was dark except for faint kitchen light glowing softly below.

Then—

you heard it.

The back door unlocking quietly.

Your heartbeat started pounding immediately. Slow footsteps entered the kitchen.

Then Rafe’s voice called softly into the darkness: “Honey? Why’re you awake?”