The hallway outside 19B smelled like disinfectant and burnt toast.

  Someone on the floor below had overcooked breakfast again. The smell drifted up through the vents and lingered. It mixed with the sharp, clean scent the building used after complaints. Somchai had sprayed it himself that morning, walking the hall with a plastic bottle and a tired wrist.

  He sprayed around the elevator doors. He sprayed near the fire extinguisher. He skipped the corner where the light flickered.

  At 9:12 a.m., two uniformed officers stepped out of the elevator.

  They looked around, taking in the hallway, the sandals, the closed doors. One of them nudged the sandals with his shoe and straightened them without thinking.

  Somchai watched from the desk through the security monitor.

  He picked up his pen and wrote the time down.

  In 19B, the air conditioner was still humming.

  A woman from building management stood near the kitchen, holding a clipboard against her chest. She wore flat shoes and kept checking her phone, then slipping it back into her pocket like it might ring at the wrong moment.

  The younger officer stood by the bathroom door. The older one leaned against the counter, looking at the sink.

  “Did anyone touch anything?” the older officer asked.

  Narin shook his head.

  “I didn’t,” he said. “I found her and called.”

  “You didn’t call an ambulance,” the younger officer said, looking at his notes.

  “I called the building,” Narin said. “They told me to wait.”

  The woman from management nodded quickly.

  “We advised him to stay put,” she said. “For safety.”

  The officer glanced at her, then back at Narin.

  “What time did you find her?” he asked.

  Narin looked at his watch.

  “Just before eight,” he said.

  “You’re sure?” the officer asked.

  “Yes,” Narin said.

  The officer wrote it down.

  In the bathroom, the younger officer crouched and looked at the floor. There was a faint damp patch near the drain. It had dried unevenly, leaving a darker ring.

  “She slipped,” Narin said. “The floor was wet.”

  The officer nodded but didn’t look up.

  “Pregnant?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Narin said.

  “How far along?”

  “Seven months,” Narin said.

  The officer stood and stepped back into the hall.

  He whispered something to his partner.

  The older officer nodded once and turned back to Narin.

  “We’ll need to check the cameras,” he said.

  “Of course,” Narin said.

  They went back out into the hall.

  Downstairs, Somchai straightened his shirt when he saw them approach the desk.

  “Morning,” the older officer said. “We need the footage from this floor. Last night and this morning.”

  Somchai nodded.

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  He led them into the small security room behind the desk. The room smelled like instant noodles and warm plastic. A fan rattled in the corner.

  Somchai sat at the desk and moved the mouse slowly. The screen filled with small boxes showing different angles of the building.

  “You know how to use this?” the officer asked.

  “Yes,” Somchai said. “I’ve worked here a long time.”

  He clicked on the feed for Floor 19. The image showed the hallway from a corner angle. The time stamp glowed in the corner.

  “Any issues with the cameras?” the officer asked.

  Somchai hesitated.

  “Sometimes,” he said. “They freeze.”

  “When?” the officer asked.

  “Random,” Somchai said. “Old system.”

  The officer leaned closer to the screen.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Show us last night,” he said.

  Somchai scrolled back.

  The footage showed the hallway at different times. A woman stepped out of an apartment and checked her phone. A man walked by carrying a plastic bag of food. The sandals stayed in place.

  At 11:47 p.m., May appeared.

  She stood near the elevator doors, her hands folded over her stomach. She looked up at the camera once, then away.

  “She stood there for a while,” Somchai said quietly. “Didn’t press the button.”

  The officers watched.

  At 12:03 a.m., she walked back toward 19B. She stopped at the door and rested her hand against it before unlocking.

  The footage continued.

  No one else appeared on the screen for a long time.

  “Fast forward,” the older officer said.

  Somchai did.

  At 7:58 a.m., Narin stepped out of the elevator. He walked down the hall and unlocked the door to 19B.

  The officer paused the footage.

  “That’s it?” he asked.

  “That’s all,” Somchai said.

  The younger officer pointed at the time stamp.

  “What about between?” he asked.

  Somchai clicked again.

  The screen flickered.

  For a moment, the hallway blurred. The image froze. Then it jumped.

  The time stamp changed.

  “That happens,” Somchai said quickly. “System glitch.”

  The officers exchanged a look.

  “You edit this footage?” the older officer asked.

  Somchai shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “I just maintain it.”

  The officer stared at him for a second longer than necessary.

  “Burn us a copy,” he said.

  Somchai nodded and reached for a blank disc.

  His hands shook slightly as he slid it into the drive.

  Back upstairs, a neighbor stood outside her door with a cup of coffee growing cold in her hands.

  She was barefoot. Her hair was tied up in a loose knot. She kept glancing toward 19B, then back at her door, as if unsure where she was supposed to stand.

  An officer approached her.

  “Ma’am,” he said. “Did you hear anything last night?”

  She nodded immediately.

  “Yes,” she said. “I mean. I think so.”

  “What did you hear?” the officer asked.

  She looked down at her coffee.

  “Crying,” she said. “A baby.”

  The officer raised an eyebrow.

  “At night?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “But not like a real baby. It was. Thin.”

  The officer wrote something down.

  “What time?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “I didn’t check,” she said. “It woke me up.”

  “Did you hear anything else?” he asked.

  She hesitated.

  “A woman,” she said. “Talking. Or maybe just breathing. Through the wall.”

  The officer nodded.

  “Did you call anyone?” he asked.

  “No,” she said quickly. “I thought. Maybe it was a TV.”

  He thanked her and moved on.

  Inside 19B, the woman from management had opened the windows. The city noise rushed in. Cars honked. Someone shouted from the street.

  Narin stood by the table, watching the curtain lift and fall.

  The older officer came back inside.

  “We’ll need a statement,” he said.

  “Of course,” Narin said.

  They sat at the table. The officer placed a small recorder between them.

  “Please describe what happened,” he said.

  Narin folded his hands.

  “I came home,” he said. “I found my wife on the bathroom floor. She wasn’t responding.”

  “Did you try to wake her?” the officer asked.

  “Yes,” Narin said. “I called her name.”

  “Did you check her pulse?” the officer asked.

  Narin shook his head.

  “I panicked,” he said.

  The officer nodded and wrote something down.

  “Did she have any medical conditions?” he asked.

  “No,” Narin said.

  “Any complications with the pregnancy?” the officer asked.

  “No,” Narin said.

  The officer paused.

  “Any recent arguments?” he asked.

  Narin looked up.

  “No,” he said.

  The officer let the silence stretch.

  “None?” he asked again.

  Narin shifted in his chair.

  “We disagreed sometimes,” he said. “About small things.”

  The officer clicked the recorder off.

  “We’ll file this as an accidental fall,” he said. “Pending the medical examiner’s report.”

  Narin nodded.

  The body was taken out just after noon.

  Two men in white carried the stretcher carefully. The sheet was tucked in tight. One corner slipped and the younger man stopped to fix it before moving again.

  The elevator doors closed slowly.

  Somchai watched the number descend on the display.

  After they left, cleaners came.

  They wore blue gloves and moved quietly. One wiped the bathroom floor. Another emptied the trash.

  They spoke to each other in low voices, pointing at spots that were already clean.

  By evening, the unit smelled like lemon.

  That night, Narin sat at the table with a bowl of instant noodles. He ate standing up.

  His phone buzzed.

  Dao’s name lit up the screen.

  He let it ring twice before answering.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m busy,” he said.

  “What happened?” she asked. “The group chat is saying something happened in your building.”

  “There was an accident,” he said.

  He stirred the noodles with his fork. The broth sloshed.

  “Was it your wife?” Dao asked.

  He didn’t answer right away.

  “Yes,” he said finally.

  “Oh,” she said.

  Silence.

  “I didn’t know she was that far along,” Dao said.

  He swallowed.

  “It was ruled accidental,” he said.

  “That’s good,” she said quickly. “I mean. You know.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “You should come stay with me,” she said. “People are going to talk.”

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  He looked toward the hallway.

  “I need to be here,” he said.

  After the call, he washed the bowl and set it in the drying rack. He lined it up with the others.

  Later, he lay in bed with the lights off.

  The air conditioner hummed.

  From somewhere above, or below, or inside the walls, a baby cried.

  This time, he didn’t get up.