When I finally emerged and went back to the master bedroom, the space was sterile. The champagne camisole had vanished. The bed was meticulously straightened, the pillows chopped precisely the way I liked them.

Damon’s white shirt was no longer draped over the closet handle.

He was downstairs, casually running water in the kitchen sink as though he hadn’t just been dismantling our marriage thirty minutes earlier. They believed they’d sanitized the crime scene.

They assumed my silence meant they were safe.

I locked myself back in the nursery and opened the security app on my phone.

Claire had an emergency entry code to our smart locks. I’d given it to her the day I found out I was pregnant, trusting her enough to enter my home whenever I might need help.