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Like Maggie isn’t missing.

Like I didn’t build a whole life out of not coming back.

I sit in the rental car with both hands on the steering wheel, staring at the front window. The curtains are open. Ben used to hate closed curtains. Said houses looked suspicious when they hid their faces.

My throat tightens.

“No,” I say out loud.

The car doesn't answer, which is respectful of it.

I turn off the engine, gather my bag, my laptop case, the paper folder I made at two in the morning after realizing I needed a system for everything I didn’t know, and step out into cold Redwood Run air.

It smells like wet bark and river mud, a distinctive, all-too-familiar mix that gets under my skin immediately.

The key is still under the loose brick beside the porch step.

I let myself in and the house exhales around me.

I stand in the entryway too long.

The living room is nearly unchanged. Same battered leather couch. Same wooden coffee table with the ring stain Maggie blamed on me for seven years, even though it was very clearly hers. Same shelves. Same old framed photo on the mantel.

Three kids, lined up in front of the river.

Maggie with wind tangled hair and a grin too big for her face. Me standing stiffly beside her, already looking like I was waiting for instructions. Ben crouched in front with a scraped knee, smiling like life could never possibly hurt him.

I look away.

There are practical things to do.

Practical tasks give my brain somewhere safe to go. To-do lists don’t ask why I stopped calling my sister regularly. Coffee filters don’t ask why my niece barely knows me.

I set the folder on the kitchen counter and open it.

Current priorities:

1. Confirm Lucy’s routine.

2. Confirm Maggie’s last known location.

3. Confirm whether the police are involved in a meaningful way.

4. Maintain work obligations.

5. Don't unravel.

Item five is purely aspirational. I’ve already failed it twice today.

My phone lights up.

Sophie White.

I answer before the second ring. “Hi.”

“Oh, Laurel, sweetheart.” Sophie’s voice is soft, strained. She always did speak like she was apologizing for taking up space. “We’re just leaving now. Lucy had a little trouble getting her shoes on.”

A little trouble.