SUSANNA POV
Susanna Croft had spent most of her adult life believing preparation could prevent catastrophe.
Locks.
Backups.
Emergency contacts.
Copies of important documents stored in separate locations.
She taught Allison to memorize phone numbers before she was old enough to understand why.
She taught her how to recognize exits.
How to notice when someone followed her.
How to question information before believing it.
How to think.
Safe if you think.
For years, Susanna had believed those words were a gift.
Tonight, sitting at the edge of her daughter's childhood bed, she wondered whether they had also been an apology.
The room hadn't changed much.
Not because Allison still lived in it.
She didn't.
But because Adrian was sentimental in ways he would deny under oath.
The bookshelf remained.
Old photographs.
A stuffed animal Allison claimed she stopped caring about at thirteen but never allowed anyone to throw away.
