After settling my son in, I drove alone to the apartment complex but didn't rush upstairs. Instead, I stayed in the car and opened the home surveillance feed on my phone.The cameras had been installed years ago, when my son was a toddler, to make it easier to keep an eye on him. I hadn't used them in ages, and only I knew the password.I scrubbed the timeline back to the day my son and I had left home.At 7 a.m., I had gotten up on time and made breakfast for Silas James and our child. I'd woken him in the process. He'd come out of the bedroom grumbling, bleary-eyed, and gone to wash up.By 8:30 a.m., Silas wheeled out the suitcase I'd packed overnight after we finished breakfast, then hugged our son and said goodbye to both of us before heading out.At 10 a.m., I'd locked the door and taken my son downstairs.At 11 a.m., the door opened again, and Silas' face reappeared on the screen, but he wasn't alone. A woman followed him inside.I knew her. She was Silas' colleague, Iris
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