We walked quickly toward my car, parked in the detached garage.

I unlocked the SUV with the remote.

The headlights flashed, cutting through the darkness.

Suddenly, a bright light shone directly into my eyes from the side alley.

“Adrian Whitmore?” a voice called out.

I shielded my eyes with my hand.

The silhouette of a person stood in the narrow gap between the garage and the fence.

They were holding a phone, recording us.

“Is that the first wife?” the voice asked.

I shoved the kids into the back seat of the SUV.

“Get in!” I yelled to Maren.

She scrambled into the passenger seat.

The person with the phone took a step closer, the light blinding us.

I jumped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

I started the engine and threw the car into reverse.

The tires screeched on the wet pavement.

We backed out of the garage and into the alley, leaving the flashing light behind.

But as I turned onto the main road, my dashboard screen began to glow.

A new call was coming in.

The caller ID showed Celeste’s name.