so he could test the lock.
He’d promised to return it.
I had forgotten.
Now I couldn’t remember whether I’d ever seen that key again.
Ruth took my elbow.
‘Everybody outside,’ she said.
‘Nobody goes into the house until we know it’s safe.’
We moved down the porch steps.
I called 911, told the dispatcher about Theo’s letter, the missing key, and the noise I’d heard inside.
A rider named Walt, a retired firefighter, stayed near the sidewalk while Ruth stood with us.
Martin crossed the street.
‘What’s all this?’ he demanded.
He looked from Theo to Ruth, then back to me.
‘June, you’re upsetting the boy.
You know how sensitive he’s been since Daniel died.’
The casual way he spoke my husband’s name made something harden inside me.
‘Did you hurt my son?’
Martin gave a short, incredulous laugh.
‘What? Of course not.’
‘Then why is he afraid of you?’
‘That kid has been making up stories for months.
He’s grieving.
He needs professional help.’
I felt Theo flinch against my side.
Martin’s gaze dropped to the red helmet.
‘What did he tell you?’
Ruth answered before I could.
‘He doesn’t need to discuss anything with you.’
Martin turned toward her.
‘Who are you supposed to be? His bodyguard?’
‘No,’ Ruth said.
‘Just an adult who listened.’
Martin threatened to call the police.
I told him they were already on their way.
His expression changed immediately.
The first patrol car arrived a few minutes later.
Officer Hannah Price stepped out and listened while I explained the letter, the missing key, and my son’s wrist injury.
She separated Martin from us and asked another officer to remain nearby while she took our information.
Then she asked whether I had a security camera.
I remembered the small black camera above our driveway.
Daniel had installed it after someone stole a package from our old house.
After he died, I’d silenced the motion notifications because every alert made me hope for one impossible second that he was coming home.
But the camera still recorded.
I opened the application.
At 5:08 that morning, Martin’s service van entered the frame.
He stepped out wearing work gloves.
He glanced along the street, then crouched behind my car near the rear wheel.
He stayed there almost two minutes.
When he stood, he wiped his hands and moved toward our kitchen door.
I watched him take a key from his pocket.
He tested the handle.
Then the clip ended.
Officer Price told me not to drive the car.
My heart began pounding.
Every Saturday morning, Theo and I drove up the steep road outside town to visit Daniel’s grave.
Martin knew that.
I’d told him about our routine myself.
I stared at the screen until the officer gently asked me to step away from the car.
Ruth put one hand against Theo’s back.
‘You did the right thing writing that letter,’ she told him.
Theo looked up at me.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.
That nearly broke me.
‘Sweetheart, what are you sorry for?’
‘For not telling you sooner.’
I knelt before him.
‘Theo, listen carefully.
You didn’t do anything wrong.
Not one thing.’
He pressed his lips together, trying not to cry again.
‘I thought he would hurt you if I told.’
I hugged him, suddenly understanding
