“Claire, I know you’re in there! Your car is in the driveway. Open this door immediately!”

I shut my eyes, palms slick against the wood.

Do not let them inside.

Then I heard keys jingle, and metal scraped at the deadbolt.

My father had a copy of my spare. Of course he did — the same just in case impulse that had handed him this phone number had handed him a key, back when I still believed being reachable was the same thing as being loved.

I’d changed every lock on the property the day the deed transferred.