“And Lily?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What about what this is doing to our daughter?”

“Lily is fine,” he said coldly.

“She is safe because I keep her safe.”

He reached into his pocket again, his fingers wrapping around the metal casing of his phone.

The screen cast a pale blue glow across his chin as he tapped the glass twice, dismissing whatever message had disturbed him.

I looked down at his hand, then at the wall panel near the heavy wooden door.

The small LED light on the security keypad blinked green.

Nathan had upgraded the entire house three months ago, installing heavy-duty deadbolts and smart locks on every exterior door.

He had joked about it being a necessary precaution for a surgeon’s family, a way to keep us secure when he was on late-night call.

Now, the glowing green light felt less like a shield and more like a camera eye watching me.

“I need to check on Lily,” I said, backing toward the hallway.

“She is in her room, playing,” Nathan said, his voice dropping to a calm, clinical drone.