My son’s cloth used to hide theft from his mother.
Harris bagged everything.
In Audrey’s old room, we found the laptop.
She had not had time to wipe it.
Or maybe she thought a deleted folder meant gone.
People like Audrey believed technology worked like apologies.
Say the right word, and the record disappeared.
It did not.
The cloned messages were there.
Drafts.
Screenshots.
A folder labeled L.
Inside were messages written in my voice.
Stop being dramatic.
Mom knows better than you.
Do what she says.
I can’t deal with you right now.
You’re embarrassing me.
Reading them felt like swallowing glass.
Naomi stood beside me.
“Lucas.”
I closed the laptop.
“I’m fine.”
“You do not have to be.”
“I know.”
But I did have to be useful.
There is a difference.
By noon, the locks were changed. The alarm code was reset. The nursery camera was replaced. Every window latch was checked.
