The Footage
Mrs. Chen met us outside her house, clutching her phone like it might break.
“Verona, I’ve watched this so many times. I still can’t believe it.”
On her screen:
7:45 p.m. — Me leaving for work, kissing Quinton goodbye.
8:43 p.m. — Karen’s car pulling in. Red dress, bottle of wine. Dale opening the door, glancing up and down the street.
9:15 p.m. — Dale leading Quinton out back, handing him the tablet, locking the door.
9:47 p.m. — Quinton crying at the front door, “Daddy, please! It’s dark!”
10:20 p.m. — Quinton dragging garbage cans, climbing the fence, falling, then limping away.
10:45 p.m. — Dale stepping out, checking his phone, then going back inside.
11:30 p.m. — Dale and Karen leaving together, laughing. She reapplied lipstick in the car window reflection.
I couldn’t breathe.
Rodriguez’s expression turned grim.
“We need to enter the house.”
Inside, everything looked tidy—except our bedroom. The sheets were tangled, two glasses of wine sat on my nightstand, Karen’s earrings on the dresser, and a note:
“Thanks for the loan of your husband. Don’t wait up.”
