I did not scream or drive off in a panic. Instead I zoomed in, and my breath caught. The locksmith was not forcing the new lock. He was holding a folded paper while Kyle counted cash into his palm. Then the camera speaker crackled, and I heard my son say, “Just get it open before she checks the cameras. Once we’re inside, she can’t do anything.” He had forgotten the camera recorded sound.

The locksmith read the paper and frowned. “This is a deed transferring the cabin to you, signed last month.” My signature sat at the bottom, and I had never written it. Kyle only shrugged. “Mom is getting forgetful. Nobody will question it.” My hands stopped shaking. I opened my contacts and pressed the number I had saved ten days earlier, the one I had hoped never to use.