Property records.
Realtors.
“What the hell…?” I whispered to the empty room.
My fingers hovered over the trackpad as the timeline clicked into place in my head.
Mom’s house.
Wine.
Late night.
Me passing out on the couch.
My laptop—open.
No password.
No lock screen.
Sage.
I scrolled faster now, heart pounding.
Why would she be looking this up?
What was she even trying to find?
A cold, prickling feeling crept up my spine.
I remembered something else.
My bank account.
I hadn’t logged out.
I pulled it up so fast I nearly dropped the laptop.
Balance: unchanged.
Relief hit first—sharp and dizzying.
Then came the second thought.
She wouldn’t steal from me.
Would she?
I stared at the screen, my reflection faintly visible in the dark glass.
Sage wouldn’t do that.
She was dramatic. Intense. Emotional. But not?—
Notthat.
Right?
