Dismissing the Glitch

I stared at the custom matte blue. The paint Julian claimed to have invented solely for his firm's new downtown lobby. My thumb hovered over the glass screen, hand trembling so violently I nearly cracked the phone against the granite countertop.

Heavy footsteps thudded on the hardwood stairs. Julian.

I shoved the phone face-down next to the coffee maker just as he strode into the kitchen. He was a vision in tailored navy wool, smelling of cedar and expensive shaving cream. He leaned in, pressing a brief, dry kiss to my cheek.

"Morning, superwoman," he said, reaching for his travel mug. "Did you get the CPA renewal packet finalized? State board needs my signature on the character reference today, right?"

My throat felt like ash. A character reference. The irony tasted metallic on my tongue. I picked up the phone. I had to show him. I had to demand an explanation for the woman, the baby, the walls.

"Julian," I managed, flipping the device toward him. "Look at this."

I expected him to pale. To stutter.

But the screen was black. A spinning white circle mocked me in the center of the display. *Connection Lost.*

He glanced at the blank screen, then down at his steel Rolex. "What am I looking at, Clara?"

"There was a notification." My voice shook. I tightened my grip on the phone to steady it. "From the new security hub. It said 'Nursery'. There was a live feed of a woman holding a baby."

Julian paused, his coffee halfway to his mouth. Then, he chuckled. It was a smooth, practiced sound, the one he used to charm hesitant clients.

"Clara, the installation tech warned us about this on Friday," he said, taking a sip. "Crossed IP addresses on the mesh network. The hub is just pulling an unsecured Wi-Fi feed from a neighbor's baby monitor. I'll have him recalibrate the bandwidth when I'm back from Chicago."

He set the mug down and zipped his leather overnight bag. "Don't let it stress you out. You have enough on your plate balancing the firm's ledgers and dealing with my mother's medical drama. Delete the app for now."

He grabbed his keys from the bowl. "I'll call you from O'Hare."

Another perfunctory kiss. The mudroom door clicked shut behind him.

I stood frozen by the island. A crossed IP address. A neighbor's monitor. It sounded so logical. So mundane. So exactly like the kind of seamless reality Julian constructed for a living.

I moved to the window over the sink, bracing my hands against the cold porcelain basin. Julian was crossing the driveway toward his Audi, but he didn't get in. He dropped his bags by the trunk, pulled his phone from his breast pocket, and answered a call.

I reached out and cranked the casement window open just an inch. The crisp February air bit at my skin.

Down in the driveway, Julian’s posture completely transformed. The hurried, corporate tension melted from his shoulders. His face softened into a tender, unguarded smile—a look of absolute devotion I hadn't seen directed at me in over a decade.

The morning wind carried his voice up through the cracked window.

"—fever go down?" His voice dropped to a soft murmur. "I know