Chapter 6: Locks

The locksmith finished at six that evening.

I stood in my front hall holding Theo and watched him hand me four new keys.

"Back door too?" he asked.

"Back door too."

"Anybody I should expect to try them?"

"My husband," I said. "He doesn't live here anymore."

The sergeant had told me how to file for a protective order, and I had filed it that morning.

The judge would hear it on Thursday.

Until then, all I had was a lock.

Finbar had slept in his car the night before, outside the hospital, and when I got home he was in my driveway again with a bag.

"I'll take the couch," he said.

"You don't have to."

"I know." He set the bag down inside my door. "I still want to."

I should have argued.

Instead I showed him where the blankets were.

At three in the morning, Theo woke me, and I fed him in the dark nursery with the door open.

That was when I heard the glass.

It was a small, sharp crack from the kitchen, and then a long, careful silence.

I stood up with the baby against my shoulder and walked to the top of the stairs.

The same stairs.

I stayed on the landing and kept my free hand on the rail.

Below me, a shape moved through the dark hall, and I knew who it was.

Palmer had broken the pane in the back door and reached in through it for the new deadbolt.

He came to the bottom step and looked up.

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