Chapter 3
Vanessa looked at Ethan.
Not at me.
At Ethan.
That was the second moment I noticed.
The first had been the glance between them.
The second was fear.
Real fear.
Ethan stepped closer.
“You are exhausted.”
“What happened at that lake?”
“Your son died.”
My son.
Not ours.
Your son.
I felt something cold crawl through me.
Behind Ethan, Vanessa reached for her purse.
Her phone slipped from the open bag and hit the floor.
The screen lit.
A message preview appeared.
From Ethan.
Sent four days earlier.
I only saw nine words before Vanessa snatched it up.
But nine words were enough.
HE SAW US. I’LL DEAL WITH OWEN TOMORROW.
The room tilted.
“What did that message mean?”
Vanessa went white.
Ethan looked at her phone.
Then at me.
“Nothing.”
“Give me the phone.”
“Claire.”
“Give me the phone!”
I lunged.
Vanessa backed away.
Ethan caught me around the waist.
I kicked him.
He cursed.
For the first time in eleven years, my husband shoved me.
Hard.
My back struck the dresser.
A framed photograph fell.
Owen at six years old, wearing a paper birthday crown.
The glass shattered across his smiling face.
I looked down.
Something inside me broke with it.
“What did he see?”
Neither answered.
I picked up the photograph.
Blood ran from my palm where the glass cut me.
“What did my son see?”
Vanessa started crying.
“Ethan, I told you to delete everything.”
Silence.
Ethan turned toward her.
Vanessa covered her mouth.
And I understood.
Not everything.
But enough.
I ran.
Ethan caught me in the hallway.
“Claire, listen to me.”
I screamed.
He dragged me backward.
“You’re not thinking clearly.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing!”
“What did you do to my baby?”
Vanessa hissed from the bedroom, “Stop her before she calls the police!”
That sentence changed everything.
Ethan grabbed my phone.
I bit his hand.
He struck me.
Not with a fist.
An open palm.
But I fell against the railing.
For a second the staircase opened beneath me.
Then a hand closed around the back of my coat.
Not Ethan’s.
Someone pulled me upright.
A man stood on the landing.
Tall.
Broad shouldered.
Black overcoat wet from the rain.
Dark hair.
A thin scar crossing one eyebrow.
Behind him were two men I did not know.
Ethan stumbled backward.
His face changed.
“Roman.”
The stranger looked at Ethan’s raised hand.
Then at the blood on my palm.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet.
“Touch her again and you'll lose the privilege of having hands.”
Vanessa stopped crying.
Ethan swallowed.
“What are you doing in my house?”
Roman ignored him.
He looked at me.
May you like
“Claire Whitmore?”
I nodded because I had forgotten how to speak.
