The name on the screen made my stomach drop.
The name on the screen was Daniela.
Not a work contact.
No last name.
Just Daniela, with a small pink heart beside it.
Ryan’s hand moved toward the phone.
I got there first.
I picked it up and read the preview on the lock screen before it went dark.
*Just checking you’re still coming Saturday.
Toby can sleep in his usual spot.
I already told the dog he’s coming.*
I set the phone back down.
[Face up.]
So Ryan could see that I had seen it.
“His usual spot,” I said.
Ryan didn’t answer.
“She has a spot for him, Ryan.
A regular place where my son sleeps.” My voice was still level.
I don’t know how.
“How long?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“How long?”
He looked at the counter.
“About eight months.”
Eight months.
One month longer than the Thursday routine he had sold me as his work-from-home day.
One month longer than every 3:15 text.
*Safely back at the house.* I had read those texts and felt grateful.
Grateful that he was reliable.
Grateful that our system worked.
“She’s been picking Toby up from school,” I said.
“Every Thursday.
