I Forgot to Tell My Husband the Security Camera Was Fixed Before My Business Trip

Inside, everything looked normal at first glance. The documents were still there, neatly stacked. The passports, the deed to the condo.

But the cash was gone.

All twelve thousand dollars.

The empty space where it should have been felt like a wound.

I closed the safe and carefully replaced the panel.

Then I checked the living room more carefully.

The window had a small crack near the latch. Scratches on the frame suggested someone had forced it. A lamp was knocked over. Books were scattered on the floor in a way that looked just slightly too staged.

He’d done it. He’d actually gone through with it.

Probably with Marcus’s help, probably sometime yesterday, everything arranged to look just convincing enough for an insurance claim and a police report.

I wondered if Daniel had already filed the report. If he’d called the police, put on a shocked and violated act, played the part of the distraught husband whose home had been invaded.

The door opened behind me.

I turned.

Daniel walked in carrying grocery bags, mid-sentence before he even saw me.

“—figure we could do pasta tonight, I got the good stuff from that Italian place you like—”

He stopped when he saw me standing there.

“Laura! You’re home early! I thought your flight wasn’t until—”

“It got moved up,” I said.

My voice sounded strange to my own ears. Flat. Empty.

Daniel set the groceries down on the counter, smiling, walking over like he was going to hug me.

“God, I missed you,” he said. “Two weeks was too long. How was—”

“Before my trip,” I interrupted, “I forgot to tell you something.”

He froze mid-step.

Something in my tone must have registered because his expression shifted, the easy smile faltering.

“What?” he asked carefully.

“The camera,” I said, nodding toward the corner where it sat, small and black and silently recording. “I picked it up from the repair shop. The day before I left.”

The color drained from his face.

“What?”