Matio Rodriguez
I waited until Sara fell asleep on the couch.
She didn’t mean to.
But after hours of pacing, wiping down invisible crumbs from the kitchen counter, and pretending she wasn’t shaken by the flower in
the book, her body gave out.
I stood in the hallway for a while, just watching her breathe.
She clutched one of the couch cushions like it could save her.
And I hated that it wasn’t me.
By 2 a.m., I was in the study.
Laptop open. Lights dimmed.
My encrypted drive whirred to life.
I didn’t ask permission.
I went straight into her bakery system.
Staff schedules. Payment records. Customer emails. Loyalty card logs. Old security footage.
I copied everything.
And then I went further.
Into town registries. Public camera archives. License plate activity. Trash collectio
