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I have no idea what to make of this. Did he get fired?

Is he trying to get his job back at the Pacific by writing some big exposé…

about me? If that’s the case, you’re out of luck, buddy , I think grimly.

I’m not ending up in prison like Mom. It’s not that I’m unwilling to accept that my actions may have consequences, but frankly, none of the people I’ve killed are worth going to prison over.

I’ve reached the shoreline. I take a seat on the sand, run a hand through my hair, and tilt my face into the cool breeze coming off the ocean. I’ve answered some questions, but… now there are even more.

The most pressing question: am I his prime suspect? Or, God forbid, his only suspect? He didn’t say my name during his phone call. That’s good. But I don’t know who he was talking to, and maybe he keeps his cards close.

I lean my chin on my knees and watch the waves roll in, allowing their rhythm to return calm to my speeding heart. The moon makes a long reflection, like a path made of light.

For some reason, Jessica feels near to me right now. As though the moon-path is connecting me to the place where she’s gone, and at any moment, I might see her walking through the glimmer towards me. I wish I could buy her a ticket on Cat Stevens’ peace train. Send her home.

She’s not at peace, I know it, even though medical science would tell me otherwise. I’m not a spiritual person, but in my heart, I know she’s in stasis. Still with me, trapped here, still needing all the things I failed to give her…

I swallow the lump in my throat. I don’t even know what the lump is– some burning wedge of grief and anger.

I’m shaking. Maybe from cold.

I could still kill Daniel.

But that’s not the playbook, is it?

He’s not toxic writer Daniel Black; that’s just his cover. I only kill toxic people. I don’t kill to protect myself.

I’m shaking harder; I draw my knees close to my chest and wrap my arms tight around them, working my finger under the elastic on my wristband and tugging it rhythmically without letting it snap.

Is this how I go down?

It can’t be; I can’t let it be. Tomorrow at dinner I’ll figure out what he knows. And if he truly is on to me… I’ll deal with it then.

Does Jess know what I do for her?

Maybe she would hate it. I don’t know. I can’t speak for her; no one can. But if she can see me down here, doing my best, I hope she understands that this is my way of leaving some kind of legacy from the pain I fear she’s still in.

I pull out my phone. It’s late, but I don’t care. I dial Beth Ann.

She answers on the second ring. ‘Hi, Lily! Did you find the photo?’ Her voice is breathy and eager.

My mouth is dry. When I start talking, I know I sound like a robot.

‘When you called earlier, I thought maybe you were calling to talk about the– the other disagreement we’ve had.’

There’s a weighted pause.

Beth Ann’s tone takes on a chill I know all too well. ‘Don and I have made our desires quite clear on that point.’

Fury knots in my throat. ‘I was going to marry her.’

‘Thank God you didn’t.’

‘What’s the point?’ I spit. I’m nearly hyperventilating. This is why we don’t talk. Because I can’t stay unemotional with the woman who set herself against me– against us. Against her own daughter. ‘Just tell me what the point is! I don’t understand!’

‘The point is to do the right thing, even when it’s hard.’

‘But it’s not right, Beth Ann! It’s—’

‘We gave you Taste of Heaven free and clear,’ she cuts in. ‘We didn’t ask for a cent from Jessica’s part of the business. We have been more than generous with you. We gave you what was yours, and all we’re asking is for you to respect what’s ours.’

My teeth are clenched, distorting my words. ‘I. Can’t. It’s wrong. It’s wrong .’

‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Lily, but this conversation is over.’

She disconnects.

With a growl of rage, I throw my phone. It lands somewhere in the sand. Then I bury my face in my knees.

I rub my finger, hard. The finger where my ring would have gone, too.

I bought a diamond ring for Jessica and a simple band for myself.

I didn’t propose at the Riovan, but I thought there would be chances back in Cincinnati.

Then she spiralled so fast… by the time I realized she needed professional help, a proposal didn’t feel right.

We checked her into Restore30 for their thirty-day programme.

When she came out, I should have proposed then, right away. Instead… fuck. And now, here I am.

I feel like a widow, but I was just the girlfriend.

Finally, I get up. Recover my phone. Brush it off.

My whole body feels numb, but I force myself to walk back to my room.

River is in the shower, thankfully. I huddle in my bed under the covers without taking off my clothes.

I’m still filthy and sweaty from my day at Brisebleue and my painful minutes intimately bonding with Daniel’s floor, but I don’t have the energy to move.

Maybe when River gets out I’ll hop in the shower. Maybe I’ll feel some sharpness return, some sense of being in control, but right now I feel completely hollowed out.

Maybe I’ll …