And the exact same morning her personal door code unlocked my house while I was at a prenatal appointment alone.” I pointed to the laminated sheet Claire was clutching to her chest.

“Six appointments. Six entries.”

Owen slowly looked up from the photograph and turned to Claire, who was now openly weeping, shaking her head in a desperate, pathetic rhythm.

“That piece of clothing could belong to anyone,” Damon tried, one last desperate volley. “You can buy that anywhere.”

Owen’s expression shifted from confusion to a cold, terrifying absolute.

“No,” Owen said. The word seemed to drain the remaining oxygen from the room. “That doesn’t belong to anyone.” He held the photograph up, pointing to the blue charm.