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Opal

It was late afternoon, and the sun sparkled off the Thames. Opal stood at the stern of the Thames Clipper as it rounded the Isle of Dogs towards Barking. The water churned in the wake of the boat and foamed white on the brownish water.

Who knew what lay at the bottom of this river, other than Zander. There could be a whole army’s worth of people yet to be discovered. There could be lost treasure, Roman coins, an infinite number of soda cans, all of them settling into silt, picked over by intrepid fish. All the secrets in the world could be buried here.

She took her wedding ring out of her pocket. It was just as sparkly and cheap as ever. She knew now why she had kept it—and why she had spent so long looking for him after he was gone. It wasn’t because he’d run off with all her money; that was long gone. It was because he had power over her. Because however much she hated Zander, despite all the ways he had mistreated her, he was still the only person she had ever loved. She kept the ring because she needed proof that she could love, and hope, and trust. She needed to know that she could be that person who felt and cared. Even if it turned out badly.

She didn’t need the ring anymore. She might end up being alone for the rest of her life, but that was fine. At least now she had learned that she could care.

She wound her arm back and, as hard as she could, she threw the ring out over the Thames. The wake was wide enough, and the ring was small enough that she didn’t see where it landed. But that didn’t matter. It was enough that it was gone, and Zander was gone, and with him, all her secrets that only he had known. She was free.

She punched the air.

Then, because she had at least an hour before she’d be back at Canary Wharf, she took a burner phone out of her other pocket, and googled Darren Pine.