“The hallway camera.”
“Disconnected.”
My stomach turned.
“The doorbell.”
“Apparently offline since yesterday afternoon.”
Of course.
I thought of Ethan standing beneath it two weeks earlier with a ladder.
He had told me the Wi-Fi connection was unstable.
“Neighbors?” I asked.
“Police are talking to them.”
“He hit me.”
“I know.”
“The bruises—”
“Support your statement. But I’m not the detective or the prosecutor, and I won’t lie to you about how quickly this moves.”
A sound rose in my throat.
Not quite a laugh.
Not quite a sob.
“He walked out?”
Liam’s face tightened.
“He left with an attorney.”
I looked toward the window.
Outside, evening had darkened the glass into a mirror.
My own reflection barely looked human to me.
Pale face.
Swollen mouth.
Hospital gown.
For months, I had imagined leaving Ethan.
In every version, I was prepared.
A small apartment waited under an LLC he didn’t know I controlled.
