Outside, the night air felt sharp and clean compared to the perfume inside.
I locked the door.
Then I tested it once.
That detail matters too. I locked them in the house together, not because I wanted to trap them, but because I was still the kind of woman who checked locks. Even betrayed, even shaking, some part of me cared that the house did not sit open to the street.
I walked back to my car at the end of the block.
The Sandersons’ maple branches scratched lightly against each other overhead. My breath came out in white clouds. Somewhere far away, a dog barked twice and stopped. I got behind the wheel and placed both hands on it as if it were the only solid thing left in the world.
12:17 a.m. glowed on my dashboard.
Before I called anyone, I sat there and let the facts line up like dominoes.