I had quietly taken a vacation day.

I dropped Leo at my sister’s, and I drove to a coffee shop two miles from my house, and I opened my laptop, and I logged into the feed, and I waited.

At a quarter past ten, the camera in the front hall came to life.

Julian, letting himself in.

And behind him, the young woman from the bakery.

Her name, I would learn within the hour, was Victoria — a junior analyst at Julian’s own firm, which made the betrayal not only personal but, as it turned out, catastrophically his problem and not only mine.

“You’re sure Genevieve’s working until seven?” she asked him, sliding her arms around his waist in my front hall.