“He was weak.”

Sarah flinched at the word.

She stood up slowly, her duffel bag still on the floor.

“He wasn’t weak,” Sarah said.

“He just trusted you.”

“And you spent everything.”

The hallway was silent for a moment, except for the heavy hum of the refrigerator.

A fly buzzed against the windowpane near the door, its wings ticking against the glass.

Juliette did not look at her daughter.

She looked at the floor, her fingers twitching against her handbag.

“We need to leave,” she repeated, but the authority was gone from her voice.

She looked small, suddenly, under the harsh light of the entryway bulb.

“Find the keys, Sarah,” she whispered.

“Please.”

Sarah didn’t move.

“They aren’t here, Mom,” she said.

“They’re gone.”

I reached into my pocket, my fingers brushing against the cold metal once more.

The weight of them felt heavy, like a secret that was finally ready to be told.

My phone in Dan’s hand buzzed again.

A new notification popped up on the screen, the bright light catching all of our eyes.

Dan stared at the screen.