The doorbell rings at midnight, but I already know who’s behind it. My pulse doesn’t race—I’ve trained it not to. On the security feed, he stands there, drenched in rain and shame: my ex-husband, collar turned up, eyes hollow. The man who told me I’d be nothing without him. Now he’s holding a letter, probably a sob story, maybe a threat. Behind me, my daughter sleeps soundly in the penthouse we claimed together six months ago—after three years apart. I press the intercom. \n\n"You had your chance to knock when I was starving," I say, voice steady. "Now you get silence." \n\nBut then my phone buzzes. Unknown number. A photo loads: a familiar locket—the one I lost the night they took my daughter. My breath catches. This changes everything. Do I open the door and risk his lies all over again? Do I trace the message and dive into the dark network that once shattered my life? Or do I call my head of security and burn every bridge before dawn?