We did not go home. Not yet. A nurse named Patricia brought me crackers and a sterile notepad because, she said, writing keeps some people from flying apart. James called a locksmith from my hospital bed. I stared at Sophia’s ridiculous perfect eyelashes and tried not to imagine my mother rearranging our life with a Hefty bag. Six months ago, our building upgraded to a “smart” security system—new fobs, lobby cameras, and, in each unit, a small dome mounted above the living room arch. James set u