He had watched me wipe away tears when the pressure of his expectations became too much to bear.

Every sigh of exhaustion, every quiet moment of frustration, had been fed directly into his devices.

He wasn’t just managing my blog’s search engine optimization.

He was documenting my life, frame by frame, keeping a digital ledger of my existence.

The smart-home hub on the wall suddenly chimed.

A synthesized female voice spoke from the ceiling speakers.

“Zone 4 motion cleared.”

The red status light on the wall panel remained lit, indicating the system was still armed.

I had to put the salt back.

If Julian opened his monitoring app right now, he would see my face hovering inches from the lens.

I shoved the salt jar back into its slot.

I stepped away from the counter, trying to keep my movements slow and deliberate.

I grabbed a clean dishcloth from the drawer and began wiping down the clean island.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a dull, aching throb.

The breathing.

The faint, rhythmic wheezing I had heard through the pantry floor.

It was still echoing in my ears.