Right side of the door, about three feet in, where the console used to be.

Half a second, less than a glance, before the keys go in the bowl.

There has never been anything there and there is never going to be.

And I am fifty-three years old and I am going to do it for the rest of my life, because on the twelfth of September 2024 at ten past six in the evening I came through that door with a suitcase in my right hand and did not look down for about four seconds, and in those four seconds I thought my daughter was asleep.

She was not asleep.

She had been on that tile for twenty-three minutes and forty-one seconds, and a woman who had known her for twenty years was in the next room, and the thing that was on her side was a thirty-one-dollar camera pointed at the right wall.