A stranger beside me on a flight asked, “Could you pretend you fell asleep on my shoulder?” I almost said no. I had just left Chicago with my five-year-old daughter, two suitcases, and a marriage that had fallen apart three days earlier. But I agreed. Two hours later, I woke up still leaning against him—and discovered the quiet man beside me was one of the country’s best-known billionaires. Then my phone reconnected, and a message from my ex-husband appeared: I KNOW YOU TOOK FIONA TO NEW YORK.

“Our front door camera might still be connected to my phone.”

Rachel paused.

“Check without changing or deleting anything.”

I opened the security app.

It still worked.

My thumb shook as I scrolled backward.

There it was.

Wednesday afternoon.

My car pulling into the driveway.

Me trying my key.

Fiona beside me.

Me calling David.

And earlier that day, footage of a locksmith arriving while David stood on the porch.

I stopped breathing.

“Blaire?” Rachel asked.

“I have it.”

“What?”

“The lock change.”

“Download a copy and leave the original account untouched.”

For the first time since Wednesday, I felt something other than fear.

Not relief.

Not yet.