I simply was the one fact his lifelong arrogance had never thought to check, and by the time he thought to check it, the house was sold.

Chapter 7 — The Resort Photo

At 9:12 that morning, my phone lit up with a message from Ethan.

It was a photograph, sent from the resort.

In it, his mother, Patricia, sat beneath a white umbrella by a blue pool, a drink in her hand, smiling at the camera.

And on her wrist, catching the tropical sun, was my diamond bracelet — the one that lived in my jewelry box, in the house, the one I had certainly not given her permission to take to Maui.

Ethan’s message read: Hope you found somewhere to stay.