The note trembled in my hand.
Your mother never died here.
I read the words over and over until they blurred through my tears.
It wasn’t proof.
But it was hope.
And after everything that had happened…
Hope was dangerous.
I quickly tucked the note beneath the lining of my handbag just as I heard footsteps outside.
The bedroom door unlocked.
The woman from downstairs entered carrying a breakfast tray.
She didn’t look at me.
Not at first.
“There are cameras.”
She whispered so quietly I almost missed it.
Then, louder, she said,
“Mr. Blackwood insists you eat.”
She placed the tray on the table.
As she turned to leave, she spoke without moving her lips.
“There’s a microphone under the lamp.”
The door closed.
I stared at the bedside lamp.
So…
I wasn’t just being watched.
I
