And when someone we trusted tried to turn our home into a trap, a trail of small truths—a text message, a fake invoice, a flight never boarded, bank transfers, a hidden phone, and a security light my father wired years ago—told a story that no lie could ever erase.

Now, whenever I get home from a shift and cross the yard, the sensor catches my movement.

The floodlight comes on.

Before opening the door, I always look up at Lily’s window.

Sometimes she’s fast asleep.

Sometimes she’s sitting up drawing.

Sometimes she raises her hand and waves from the window.

Then I unlock the door and walk inside.

Because now I know exactly who is waiting on the other side.

And so does she.