He slipped the seal into his pocket.
Then he stood, washed his hands, and walked out of the kitchen.
“Where did this come from?” I whispered.
“My camera.”
Leo pointed toward a small vent beneath the breakfast counter.
“I started recording rooms after I saw Dad checking the gas line last week.”
A metallic clank sounded from outside.
The chain at the gate.
Leo took the memory card from me and inserted it into the old phone.
“The video is copied here, but we need to send it somewhere he can’t delete it.”
My own phone rang again.
Ethan.
We ignored it.
The front gate creaked.
I looked at Leo.
“Call the police.”
“You call.”
“Why me?”
His answer broke something inside me.
“Because adults believe other adults faster than they believe children.”
I took the old phone and dialed emergency services.
I gave our address.
I said my husband had deliberately loosened a gas line, locked the property from outside, and was now returning.
I said there was a child in the house.
The dispatcher told me to leave immediately if I could do so safely.
I looked toward the front hall.
The only easy exit opened onto a courtyard surrounded by walls and the locked gate.
“We can’t get out,” I said.
“He chained the gate.”
The dispatcher’s voice changed.
“Officers are on the way.
Stay on the line.”
Leo shook his head urgently and pointed toward the study.
“We need the folder.”
“What folder?”
“His desk.
Bottom drawer.”
“Leo, no.”
“The insurance papers are there.
And other things.”
A key turned in the front door.
Too late.
Leo dropped instantly back into his performance.
His arms went limp.
His head fell sideways.
I shoved the old phone into my pocket and moved toward the kitchen counter.
Ethan entered carrying his leather travel bag.
He smiled when he saw me.
It was the same smile from the driveway.
“There you are.”
I had never been afraid of a smile before.
His gaze moved past me to the open windows.
Then to the stove.
Then to Leo.
“I got worried when you stopped answering,” he said.
“You came back quickly.”
“I was closer than I thought.”
He set down the bag.
“What happened?”
I forced myself not to look at the camera above us.
“I smelled gas.”
Ethan frowned with perfect concern.
“Gas? Are you sure?”
“Very.”
He walked toward the stove.
I watched his eyes find the connector.
For the smallest fraction of a second, his face emptied.
Then the concerned husband returned.
“Probably a faulty fitting,” he said.
“I’ve been telling the maintenance company to check these things.”
“You told me the stove was serviced last month.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
The room seemed to tighten.
Ethan smiled again.
“You inhaled gas, Clara.
You’re confused.”
There it was.
The old trick.
Not anger.
Not yet.
First, he tried to make me doubt myself.
He walked closer and touched my arm.
I stepped back.
His hand remained suspended between us.
“What are you doing?” he asked softly.
“Getting some air.”
“You should lie down.”
“I’m fine.”
His gaze sharpened.
Behind him, Leo gave a weak moan.
Ethan turned.
“Quiet.”
The word was instant and cold.
Leo became still.
I saw then how easy it
