Underneath, a single line of text from a number I recognized all too well.

The number belonged to Daniel.

The text below the screenshot of the emptied account was brief.

“You think you can run, but I still hold the purse strings.”

My heart hammered against my ribs as I ushered the children toward the baggage claim.

I deleted the notification, but the image of that empty balance stayed burned into my mind.

We took a rusted local taxi through the damp coastal streets.

The town was quiet, smelling of salt-crusted pine and low tide.

Fog rolled in from the water, swallowing the headlights of the passing cars.

The rental house was a small, gray-shingled cottage sitting on a low bluff.

Inside, the air was cold and carried the faint scent of floor wax and old wool.

I turned on the baseboard heaters, their metal grates creaking as they began to warm.

Lily carried her stuffed rabbit straight to the smaller of the two bedrooms.

Ethan was already asleep on my shoulder, his small body heavy and warm.