She shifted her daughter carefully and typed the front-door code.
The keypad blinked red.
Paige frowned.
Maybe her finger had slipped.
She typed it again, slower this time.
Red.
A cold feeling moved through her chest.
She tried one more time.
Red.
Her daughter made a tiny sound against her collarbone, and Paige gently rocked her.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she whispered, though she was not sure who she was trying to comfort.
She called her husband, Bryce Callahan.
Once.
Twice.
On the third call, he finally answered.
Music played in the background. People were laughing. Somewhere behind him, Paige could hear waves.
“Bryce,” she said quietly, trying to keep her voice steady. “The door code isn’t working.”
There was a short pause.
Then Bryce sighed.
“I changed it.”
Paige stood completely still.
Rain touched her eyelashes. Her hospital bracelet was still around her wrist.
“You changed the code while I was in the hospital?”
Before Bryce could answer, his mother’s voice came through the phone, sharp and pleased.
“Is she outside already?”
Paige closed her eyes.
Bryce’s tone turned colder.
“You needed a lesson in boundaries, Paige. Mom said you were starting to act like you owned everything.”
Paige looked at the house.
The stone steps. The wide porch. The brass lanterns. The expensive windows. The nursery she had built. The mortgage that had been paid from her account for years.
“Bryce,” she said, very softly, “I do own it.”
He laughed.
Not loudly.
Not cruelly enough for other people to notice.
Just enough to make her feel small.
“Don’t start that again. You just had a baby. You’re emotional.”
Behind him, his younger sister called out, “Tell her we’re already at the beach house!”
