Page 134 of The New Couple in 5B

“I missed you,” he whispers. “Now that the book is done, come with me next time we’re on location.”

I nod. “Yes, I’d like that. Oh.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Your agent called, said he couldn’t reach you? The showrunner needs to talk to you. He said that you left the set yesterday.”

I feel that whisper of unease—Chad not where he’s supposed to be. Lilian in the elevator lobby.

Chad frowns and shakes his head. “No. That’s weird.”

He takes his phone from the bedside table and scrolls through the calls. “Oh, wow. I did miss some calls. Service up there is wonky.”

“Huh,” I say.

“Well, let me call Sean. That guy is a total flake. I’m not sure he’s the best choice for a showrunner. Doesn’t even know who’s on set.”

Something about the phrasing makes me think of Betty Cartwright.

Chad called her flaky when the detective told us about her claims that she overheard him manipulating Ivan into willing us the apartment. She wasn’t flaky. She was competent and kind. I look up at Chad, who’s already got the phone to his ear.

“Sorry I missed you, Sean,” he says. “Service is bad up there.”

I don’t hear the response because I get up and go into the living room, pulling on Chad’s shirt. The television is already tuned into the news, volume muted.

I push away the uneasy feeling. I get weekly calls from Detective Crowe, who even though he has three people in custody, two convicted and one with the jury deliberating, still doesn’t feel like he has all the pieces. He still has questions for Chad about Dana’s murder, about Betty Cartwright’s. But he has no evidence against my husband, just questions. I think Detective Marlo Graves, the one who still thinks Chad killed Bethany, has poisoned his mind against my husband.

Sarah calls often, too. She’s still having her dreams about a monster drinking my blood. My father is getting worse and when will I come home. Lately, I’m starting to think it’s time to make amends with my past. I try to be as gentle with her as possible when I tell her that I am already home, that I don’t know when or if I’ll visit, but it will be in my time, on my terms.

I settle onto the plush sofa, pull the blanket around me. All the surveillance cameras and audio monitoring have been removed from our apartments. And our new main doorman, Chuck, is a retired cop. I finally feel safe in this apartment, like it’s ours.

A headline on the screen has me turning up the volume on the television. A young, blonde female reporter stands in front of a prison, the sky gray and moody behind her, her hair whipping about in the breeze.

“Nolan Wright, who was convicted of murdering his sister Bethany in 2015, and whose upcoming retrial based on newly acquired evidence was set to start tomorrow, killed himself in prison today.”

A picture of the young and beautiful Bethany appears on the screen, beside another image of her brother in a prison jumpsuit. My heart starts to thump, and my throat goes dry.

“Authorities say that he took a lethal dose of fentanyl. But have no idea how he obtained the narcotic. An investigation is pending.”

The reporter goes on, voice grim.

“Wright left a suicide note confessing once again to the murder of his sister and apologizing to his parents and to everyone who loved Bethany. He claimed not to have deserved a new trial and didn’t want to cause his family any more suffering.”

I sit, staring, my skin tingling.

“A terrible end to a tragic story. This is Rachel Jones, reporting from Union Penitentiary.”

Some of the pieces click into place then, and I feel the bottom fall out of my universe. Fentanyl was the drug Ella and Charles gave me. Did Chad have access to it, too? Detective Crowe’s lingering questions echo. My husband, according to his agent, was not where he claimed to be, once again. A dark heart behind a beautiful mask. Was Dana right?

“Rosie.”

I turn and there he is in the doorway. My husband. My love.

And I see him for the first time. I see what Detective Crowe sees. What Marlow Graves saw. My sister.

The boy who murdered his girlfriend in a jealous rage.

Who tampered somehow with his parents’ vehicle and caused their deaths, inheriting all their money, far less than he imagined.