Behind her, Karen stepped out of the passenger side.

Karen was carrying an empty laundry basket and a stack of cardboard boxes.

“They’re at the house,” I said, showing the screen to Molly.

Molly squinted at the small display. “What are they doing?”

“They think they’re moving in,” I said. “Or taking my things.”

I watched Diane walk up to the front door and press her finger to the smart lock.

The lock didn’t budge.

I had disabled their codes hours ago.

Diane frowned, pressing the keypad again with more force.

She turned to Karen, her mouth moving quickly as she gestured toward the door.

Then, the front door opened.

Brent stood in the entryway, wearing his favorite cashmere sweater.

He smiled and ushered them inside.

I switched the camera feed to the living room.

The three of them stood in the center of my custom-designed space, talking excitedly.

Karen set her cardboard boxes on my glass coffee table.

She pointed to the oil painting hanging above the fireplace—a piece my father had bought for me when I graduated.