I gave a faint, exhausted smile. “I didn’t know I was capable of this.”
Arthur’s expression softened. “Robert did.”
Those words stayed with me as I drove.
The streets were mostly empty on the way home. Every set of headlights in my rearview mirror made my pulse jump, but no one followed me. When I turned onto our block, the house stood quiet and dark.
I pulled into the driveway and sat for a moment, listening to the engine tick as it cooled.
Then my phone buzzed.
Daniel.
I knew before I looked.
I took a slow breath and answered. “Hello?”
“Mom.” Daniel’s voice sounded controlled. Too controlled. “Where are you?”
“At home,” I said.
“You shouldn’t be there alone.”
“I’m fine,” I replied, letting my voice sound tired.
A pause. “Why didn’t you come to our place?”
“I needed quiet.”
“You could have had quiet here,” he insisted.
“I wanted to be surrounded by your father’s things tonight,” I said, and I didn’t even have to fake that part.
Daniel exhaled slowly. “Did you get home all right?”
“Yes.”
Another pause. Then, carefully: “Have you thought any more about the paperwork?”
Arthur’s instructions echoed: make them believe their plan is still working.
“I told you,” I said softly, “I’m not thinking clearly tonight. I’ll think about it tomorrow.”
Silence.
Then Daniel sighed. “All right,” he said, but the words sounded forced. “Get some sleep.”
“You too,” I said, and he hung up.
I stared at the phone screen for a few seconds. Then I got out of the car and went inside.
The living room lamp still glowed faintly from earlier. The house felt warm, but the silence felt sharp. I locked the door behind me.
I walked to Robert’s chair and picked up his reading glasses gently. “You really did see it coming,” I whispered.
My phone buzzed again. A text from Arthur: Ortiz will begin reviewing the files tonight. I’ll update you in the morning.
Samuel Ortiz. The private investigator Arthur mentioned. The name sounded like competence and patience, two things I desperately needed.
I walked down the hallway to the study again. The door was still slightly open. The drawer still felt wrong. The empty slot still stared at me like a missing tooth.
I closed it gently and turned off the light, then went upstairs.
The bedroom felt colder than the rest of the house. Robert’s side of the bed was still made, untouched. I sat on the edge and finally let myself cry properly—silent, shaking, the kind of crying that isn’t a performance for anyone else.
At some point, exhaustion pulled at my eyelids.
Then my phone buzzed again.
A message from an unknown number.
You should check your front porch.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I sat up, listening. The house creaked softly. The rain tapped against the window. No other sound.
I got out of bed and moved downstairs, each step careful, not because I thought someone was in the house, but because my body had remembered fear without permission.
At the front door, I hesitated. Then I opened it.
