“All done, ma’am,” the technician said as I got out of the car, carrying the car seat.

He handed me three brass keys.

“We rekeyed the front, back, and the garage entry,” he said. “Deadbolts are reinforced.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Inside, the house was quiet and smelled of lemon cleaner.

I walked through the rooms, checking the windows.

Everything was locked.

I went to the nursery, where the wooden crib my husband Ethan had built sat empty.

I laid Tommy in it for just a moment to pack my diaper bag with extra formula, diapers, and a change of clothes.

My hands were still trembling.

I grabbed my laptop and the thick folder of financial documents I had kept in our home office safe.

The documents detailed the suspicious wire transfers from the joint account my father controlled.

“We need to move,” Claire said from the hallway. “If we want to hit Ocala before visiting hours close, we need to leave now.”

I picked up Tommy and carried him back to the car.

The drive south on Interstate 75 was long and monotonous.