What kind of man does that?
I lifted the whisky to my mouth, then stopped and set it back down. Getting drunk wasn't going to fix this.
The house was too quiet. I could hear the refrigerator humming, the tick of the clock in the hallway, and the absence of Elena in every inch of it. Her coat wasn’t on the hook. Her keys weren’t in the bowl by the door. The throw blanket we’d bought together was still bunched on the couch where I’d been sitting an hour ago, back when I still believed my life was intact.
Our wedding photo hung on the wall by the stairs. Elena in white, laughing at something I'd said. I couldn't remember what it was. I couldn't remember the last time I'd made her laugh like that.
For a second I couldn’t breathe. The room felt too small and I felt too big for it.
My phone buzzed on the counter. Then again, and again.
I grabbed it and the screen lit up with notifications. Texts from Angela, missed calls. Seven of them.
Please call me Matt
I'm freaking out
She knows everything
Bryan is going to find out
I can't do this alone
My hand was shaking again.
I thought about Elena. She’d probably be on her way to Millbrook now, to her father's place. I could go after her. Try to explain, beg. Something,anything, to stop this slide.
But what would I even say? What words could possibly undo what I'd done?
Angela's next text came through.
Please. I need you.
I grabbed my keys off the counter and walked out the door.
CHAPTER 8: MATT
Angela's door was unlocked.
I stepped inside and stopped. The mess hit me first: dishes overflowing the sink, a week of meals she never cleaned up. Wine bottles lined the counter like a row of little defeats. The blinds were shut, the room lit only by a lonely lamp that made everything look worse, every shadow deeper. And the smell… old wine, old sweat, and something sour underneath it all, like the place was rotting from the inside out.
Angela was on the couch, another bottle already open on the coffee table, glass in her hand. Mascara streaked down her cheeks, and her bun had come half undone, frizzy strands sticking out like she’d been tugging at it for hours. Her red-rimmed eyes snapped to mine the second I walked in.
"Matt." She set the glass down too hard, wine sloshing over the rim onto a stack of unopened mail. "Oh God, Matt, I'm so sorry. I forgot about the cameras. I completely fucking forgot. I've been so distracted lately, with everything going on, and I just… I didn't think?—"
"Hey." I held up my hands. "Hey, slow down. It's okay."
"It's not okay." She was on her feet now, pacing, arms wrapped around herself. "It's not okay, Matt. She knows. Sheknows everything. What are we gonna do? What the fuck are we gonna do?"
"We're going to figure it out." I kept my voice calm and steady, the same tone I used on the job when things were falling apart and someone needed to hold it together. "Just… sit down, okay? Let's talk this through. Once Elena calms down, I'll talk to her. We'll work something out."
Angela let out a sharp, bitter laugh.
"Work something out?" She turned to face me, eyes wild. "Don't you get it? If Bryan finds out, I'm fucked. He'll divorce me, I'll lose the house. I'll lose the clinic?—"
"You won't lose the clinic."
"I will." She grabbed the wine glass again, took a long swallow. "Bryan’s been… God, he’s been covering my ass for months. The clinic’s a disaster and he just… keeps paying things. But he hates it, Matt. He hates it. He doesn’t say it, but I see it every time he looks at the books."
