I looked up at Mom. “We need to change all the locks. Tonight.”
Her face tightened. “Why?”
“She’s slept over here,” I said. “She knows where the spare key is.”
A memory surfaced — sharp, sickening.
“That’s how she got into Ethan’s house,” I whispered. “She makes copies. She always has.”
Another memory followed. Then another.
The missing twenty dollars.
The overdrafts that never quite made sense.
The summer nights — drunk, laughing, carefree — Sage standing too close at the ATM, watching my fingers punch in my PIN.
My stomach churned.
What if she took my card?
What if she was pulling cash while I slept?
What if I was never careless — just blind?
It all clicked into place with nauseating clarity.
I grabbed my coat.
“I’m closing my bank account,” I said. “Tonight.”
I did it all in a blur.
Closed the account. Opened a new one. New PIN. New cards.
Then Verizon.
New number.
I emailed my new boss, fingers trembling as I typed something vague about switching plans and updating contact info. He hesitated. Asked one question.
I answered casually.
He let it go.
But I knew.
Sage knew where I worked.
She knew my boss’s name.
She knew the company.
Tuesday was my first day.
And for the first time since Sage had blown into my life like a wildfire and called it love, I understood the truth with terrifying clarity:
She didn’t regret what she’d done.
