The manager called me back.
His first question was simple.
“Did you authorize someone to ask about moving procedures?”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“No.”
He told me that a man had recently asked general questions about what happened when an owner moved out and whether the building needed advance notice before furniture was removed.
The manager could not tell me what Gregory intended.
Neither could I.
But the timing mattered.
I added it to the timeline.
That evening, Abigail finally asked the question I had been avoiding.
“Are we going home?”
I sat beside her on my mother’s couch.
“Not while Gregory is there.”
“Is he mad at me?”
“No.”
I stopped myself.
I could not actually know what Gregory felt.
So I corrected it.
“You did the right thing by telling me you were scared.”
She studied my face.
“Are you mad at me?”
That hurt more.
