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.

In his own way.

People use that phrase when they want credit for affection without responsibility for harm.

I tore the letter in half.

Then again.

Then again.

I threw it away.

No response.

The final thing he had from me was silence.

That felt right.

Sometimes I still dream about the river.

In the dream, the water rises.

I pull the buckle.

It does not open.

Garrett swims away.

Penelope waits on shore.

Then Tobias stands.

Every time.

Standing where a paralyzed man should not stand.

He cuts the wire.

He opens the door.

He tells me to play dead.

For years, that was the strangest part of the memory.

Now it is the part I understand best.

Garrett thought he knew everyone.

He thought Tobias was helpless.

He thought Penelope was loyal.

He thought Victor was untouchable.

He thought I was weakened.

He thought the river would erase us.