Chapter 4: The Number on the Screen
Clara didn't sleep.
Adrian had put Emma down at nine.
He'd come to find Clara in the kitchen afterward, standing at the counter with a cup of tea she hadn't touched.
"I owe you more than an apology," he said.
"You do," she said.
Not unkindly.
Just honestly.
He sat down across from her.
"Then tell me what you need."
"I need to understand something first." She wrapped both hands around the mug.
"The security camera in the hallway — how long has it been there?"
"Since Emma started pulling herself up on furniture.
About three months."
"Does Vanessa know about it?"
Adrian paused.
"I don't think I ever told her specifically.
It's not hidden.
She's been in this house enough times to notice it."
"But you never pointed it out."
"No."
Clara nodded slowly.
"So she didn't know the stroller would be on camera."
"Apparently not."
They sat with that for a moment.
"Adrian," Clara said.
"The text she received.
When she left."
"What about it?"
"I saw the number.
Partial — just the last four digits before she turned the screen.
But I've seen that number before." She set the mug down.
"It's in my contacts.
Under a name I didn't expect to see connected to any of this."
Adrian leaned forward.
"Whose name?"
Clara looked at him carefully.
She was measuring something — not whether to trust him, but how much weight he could carry right now, tonight, on top of everything else.
"My landlord," she said.
"From my old apartment.
Before I moved in here."
Adrian stared at her.
"That makes no sense."
"I know."
"Why would Vanessa be in contact with your former landlord?"
"I don't know yet.
But I moved out of that apartment because of a dispute.
The landlord claimed I'd caused damage I hadn't caused.
Tried to keep my entire deposit.
I fought it and got most of it back." She paused.
"Vanessa moved into this neighborhood around the same time I did.
I always assumed that was coincidence."
"You think it wasn't."
"I think," Clara said carefully, "that I need to find out who Vanessa actually is.
Not who she says she is."
Olivia appeared in the doorway.
She'd been upstairs — they'd both assumed she was in bed.
"I heard that last part," she said.
She didn't apologize for it.
She pulled out a chair and sat down.
"I've been thinking the same thing for six months."
Adrian looked at his daughter.
"Six months."
"She showed up right after Mom's anniversary.
You were grieving.
You weren't paying attention to the same things." Olivia put her phone on the table.
"I started keeping notes.
Small things.
The way she redirected conversations.
The way she positioned herself between you and Clara whenever things were going well.
The way she always seemed to know things she shouldn't have known."
"Like what?" Clara said.
"Like the argument we had in March.
The one about Emma's pediatrician.
We had that conversation in this kitchen with the windows closed.
Vanessa brought it up two days later at dinner like she'd been there." Olivia looked at her father.
"She wasn't there, Dad.
It was just me and Clara."
The kitchen felt smaller suddenly.
Adrian stood up.
He walked to the window, looked out at the dark street, then turned back.
"She has a key," he said.
Clara and Olivia both went still.
"I gave her a key eight months ago," he said.
"When Emma was sick and I needed someone who could come quickly if I got stuck at work."
"Did you ever ask for it back?" Olivia said.
He didn't answer.
Which was its own answer.
Clara stood up from the table.
She moved through the kitchen doorway into the hall, looking up at the small camera mounted near the ceiling.
Then she looked at the front door.
The lock.
The keypad beside it.
"Adrian," she called.
He came to the doorway.
"Has anything ever seemed moved?
In the house.
Things not quite where you left them."
He thought about it longer than she expected him to.
"Once," he said.
"Maybe twice.
I thought I was tired."
Olivia appeared behind her father.
Her face had gone pale.
"There's something else," Olivia said.
"Something I didn't put in my notes because I thought I was being paranoid."
"Say it," Clara said.
"Three weeks ago I came home early from school.
Vanessa was here.
She said she'd stopped by to drop something off for Dad.
But Dad wasn't home." Olivia's voice was steady, but her hands weren't.
"She was in the hallway.
Near the small table by the stairs.
And she had her phone out, pointed at the wall."
The wall where the camera was mounted.
No one spoke for a moment.
Then Clara said: "She knew."
"She knew," Olivia confirmed.
"And she pushed the stroller anyway."
The front door was locked.
The house was quiet.
Emma was asleep upstairs.
And somewhere across the city, Vanessa was reading a message from a number that connected her to Clara's past in a way that had no innocent explanation.
Clara took out her own phone.
She found the contact.
She stared at the name.
Then she opened a new message to Olivia: *Tomorrow.
We find out everything.*
Olivia read it across the room.
May you like
She looked up.
She nodded once.
