I climbed out, the heat biting at my neck, and was about to knock when a familiar voice called from across the street.
Mrs. Turner, Daniel’s neighbor since he bought the place, stood with a watering can in hand, her face pale.

“Marisella,” she said, hurrying over.
“You don’t know… not yet.”

My voice was steady, but my fingers tightened around the watch.
“What happened?”

“Daniel’s been in the ICU for two weeks.
They took him by ambulance in the middle of the night.
And Brianna”—she hesitated, glancing away—“she’s been on a yacht in the Keys.
Posting pictures all over Facebook.”