Sarah drove anyway, pedal to the floor, thirty miles in the wrong direction. The steering wheel fought her, yanking left whenever she tried to pass the town line. At mile marker 66 the engine died. Total silence. Her phone buzzed: a video message from Mike’s old number. She played it. Grainy footage of the dining room, new family laughing, then the camera slowly panned to the wall Sarah had bled on. The rot was gone. Her bloody X had become a beautifully stenciled “WELCOME HOME” in perfect 1970s orange. Underneath, fresh red paint still dripping: “We fixed it for you, Mommy.” The video ended with the four original children waving straight at the lens, mouths moving in unison: “See you tomorrow.”