My husband drove the car into the river with my brother and me trapped inside, but when the water had already reached my neck, the man who had been “paralyzed” for 15 years stood up from his wheelchair, k:ick:ed the door open, and whispered, “Play d:ea:d. He’s watching.” I didn’t ask any questions… until I saw who was waiting for my husband on the shore.

“Don’t try to open the door, Rosalind.”

“It’s already too late for you.”

Those were the last words I heard from my husband before he climbed out through the driver’s window and left my brother and me trapped inside a sinking SUV.

For one second, I thought I had misunderstood him.

Then Garrett looked directly at me through the open window.

And smiled.

That was when I knew.

This was not an accident.

My name is Rosalind Mercer.

I was thirty-four years old.

I had been married to Garrett Vale for three years.

Until that afternoon, I believed I knew exactly who he was.

I was wrong.

Garrett was driving us south along the coastal road near Savannah Creek.

Rain hammered against the windshield.

The river beside us looked black beneath the storm clouds.

My brother Tobias sat in the back seat.

His wheelchair was folded beside him.