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.

I covered my mouth.

The river had not been the first attempt.

It was the final one.

For three years, Garrett had been weakening me.

Slowly.

Quietly.

Then I remembered every night he had handed me milk.

“You work too hard.”

“Drink this.”

“It’ll help you sleep.”

I ran to the sink.

I vomited.

Tobias came near me.

I held up a hand.

“Don’t.”

He stopped.

Afterward, I sat on the floor.

I felt contaminated.

Violated in a way I could not explain.

Murder was simple compared to this.

Murder was one moment.

This had been every night.

Every kiss afterward.

Every morning I woke up confused.

Every time Garrett told me I was forgetful.

He had poisoned my trust first.

Then my body.

Samuel gave me water.

I asked one question.

“Can it be proven?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“We collected residue.”

“From where?”

“Your kitchen.”

“You broke into my house?”