It sounded like logistics.

It sounded like a man arranging the conditions under which the cameras could go dark and the child could be removed.

It sounded like an operational procedure, dressed in the language of love, and the dressing was the most chilling part, because it meant he had been saying these tender, helpful things to me for months while meaning something else entirely underneath every one of them.

That evening, Solomon came home holding a box of expensive pastries, kissed me on the cheek, and got down on the rug to build a block tower with Theo, just as he always did.