“If I catch you tracking my uncle’s medical care again, you’ll be out on the curb before sunrise,” Christopher said, shoving the notebook back onto my stack of folded towels.

He turned on his heel and walked off down the corridor toward his office downstairs.

I waited by the closet until his footsteps had faded completely on the hardwood floor.

I slipped into the master bedroom and slid the brass bolt shut behind me.

Mr.

Winslow was awake in bed, watching the heavy door with quiet attention.

I took the small burner phone out of my apron pocket and brought up the unsent text on the glowing green screen.

My thumb pressed the green key, sending the ten digits and the short message out into the dark air.