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“Eden. Oh, Eden—” I gasp into the phone. I’m sitting on the couch, my knees together, my spine straight, with Josh’s dead body at my feet. My throat feels raw. She’s the only one I could think to call. The only one who knows how Josh treated me. The one person in this entire world who might—might—be on my side right now.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s Josh. I... I hit back.”

“Do not move, Julia,” says Eden with a new authority in her voice. “You haven’t called 9-1-1, have you?”

“No, I... No.”

“Don’t.”

“Okay.”

The fever in my head makes it hard to think. All the beautiful scenes from The Proposal that I’ve been crowding my brain with over the past weeks are rushing in. Kissing Josh in the hot tub. Blurting I love you at Vasquez Rocks Park. Him, kneeling to place a diamond on my finger as the mountains of Jamaica rose around us like glorious witnesses. And now it’s come to this. Josh dead on the living room floor.

“I’m coming over,” says Eden. “Hang tight.”

“Okay,” I say.

There’s a knock. That was fast... Maybe she ran. Or maybe time is landsliding away from me, along with my life. With the phone still pressed to my ear, I unlock the front door.

A tall, white-haired, wide-shouldered man stares down at me. His name catches in my throat.

“Bob,” I expel like a cough.

“Julia?” I hear Eden’s voice say through the phone, but my hand falls to my side with the phone in it. Bob touches my shoulders, moving me like I’m a piece of furniture, and somehow I’ve let him inside my house. It’s not even worth saying stop or wait.

I follow Bob into the living room. Josh doesn’t look dead yet, if you stand where you can’t see the gash in the side of his head. Just stunned. I’m stunned, too, I want to tell him.

My eyes wander up to the curtains on the other side of the room. Mostly closed. But not quite. Bob was watching.

“I didn’t mean to,” I say, half to Bob, half to myself, holding the back of my hand to my mouth.

But you did, says a cruel voice inside me.

No! I was in the grip of something horrible that I couldn’t control.

You were in control the whole time.

I wanted to fix my marriage.

You wanted to end it.

Bob is on his knees now, checking Josh’s throat for a pulse. He rocks back on his heels.

“No blood on the carpet.” His voice is deep and throaty, like gravel under wheels. “That’s a damn miracle.”

Tears flood my eyes. Annaleigh will be taken away. I’ll never again smell her sweet head—never again feel her limp, trusting weight—

“Fuck,” comes a voice from behind us. We both turn. It’s Eden, just inside the front door, a backpack slung over one shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I say, gesturing helplessly to Bob. “I thought he was you.” I raise my phone and notice Andy’s text. Oh, no. I forgot that Andy is on the way.

Stopping for gas. Be there in 40. Bringing vino.

Rapidly, I text back. Not feeling so great tonight—can we reschedule??

But he may not see it while he’s driving. Or may not heed it. I know Andy.

“Andy is coming,” I say, hearing the helplessness in my own voice.

Eden looks at Bob. Bob looks at Eden.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Eden finally says.

Bob nods slowly, then turns a frown on Josh. “Well,” he says, drawing the vowel out long. He’s thoughtful. Calm. Collected. “The first thing we gotta do is get rid of the body.”