box that the insurance company had returned to me in a plastic bag.
My driving glasses were nowhere.
Walter watched me pull a couch cushion off for the third time. “You know you once put your phone in the freezer.”
“Once.”
“Twice.”
“Traitor.”
He grinned, and for a second we both felt almost normal.
Then I stopped, cushion in hand, and looked up at the ceiling above the front door.
At the little camera Daniel had installed years ago, back when he worried about me living alone. The one I’d forgotten about the way you forget about the smoke detector.
The table where I always left my purse sat directly in its view.
My hands were shaking as I found the old app on my phone and scrolled back through the weeks. Back and back, to the morning of the crash.
Walter pressed against my side, watching the screen.
