But I remember the surveillance videos. The files.
I know what he really means.
If I disappear into an inpatient program, I’ll never come back. Not as myself. Maybe not at all.
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from shaking. I force myself to nod, just a little. Just enough.
“Maybe you’re right,” I whisper. “Maybe I need more help.”
Relief crosses his face. He kisses my forehead again, lingering too long.
“I’ll call Dr. Kessler in the morning,” he murmurs. “She’ll know what to do.”
I nod again, mechanical. Hollow.
He thinks he’s won. But what he doesn’t know—what he can’t even begin to imagine—is that I’ve already set the next trap.
And this time, he’s the one who’s never coming back.
Thirty-Seven
Ellie
“Thanks for meeting me tonight for our anniversary dinner—it means a lot. I know things have been off between us lately—” Jack settles in his chair across from me at The Peninsula.
“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I send a saccharine smile across the table to Jack. I’ve been having flashbacks of the fire all day, confusion coiling in my stomach at the idea that I nearly burned my life to the ground—nearly lit the entire building and everyone in it on fire. I’m not sure if Jack has called Dr. Kessler yet—he hasn’t said anything if he has, which leaves me more than a little on edge just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“You’re beautiful tonight. You always look beautiful, but this dress—is it new?” His gaze sweeps slowly over me.
“It is—thanks for noticing.” I affect a look of genuine flattery. I have to act every part the sweet, doting wife if I’m going to play my hand well. I need him to trust me. I need him to believe that in my eyes, he can do no wrong. “Do you remember having one of our first dates here?”
“How could I forget? It was one of the best nights of my life.”He reaches across the table to place a palm on mine. “Second only to our wedding night.”
I smile sweetly, trying not to choke on the bile that’s rising in my throat. “You’re sweet.”
“You are,” he counters. “Work has been so hard lately, it feels like I’m barely keeping my head above water. You’re the only bright spot, El—I hope you know that.”
I don’t reply because I don’t think he wants me to. This is about him; this has always been about him. I need him to continue to believe that.
“I know I haven’t been a good husband lately. I hope this night changes things, though. I did my best to recreate our first date—the private rooftop dinner is just the start. I have a whole weekend planned for us.”
“Oh?” I smile and thank the waiter when he arrives with a bottle of Veuve, filling our glasses with bubbles to the brim.
“To us and another five years.” He holds his flute out and we say cheers. “At first I thought about a weekend upstate to celebrate, but that didn’t feel good enough for my girl.” I wait patiently for him to continue. “And then I thought maybe Cabo or—”
“Good evening,” the waiter interrupts Jack. “Are we ready to order starters?”
Jack announces that we’ll start with the tuna tartar. The waiter nods, then leaves. Jack starts to speak again, but as he does I reach for my glass and—seemingly by mistake—spill it across the table. My entire flute of champagne lands in his lap.
“Shit!” he cusses, reaching for his cloth napkin and dabbing at his slacks. “I’m going to clean this up in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
I apologize, but he waves me off.
As soon as he’s gone, I pull out Jack’s newly found burner phone from my bag and power it on. I open the messaging app and type in Jack’s phone number. I shoot off a quick message.
If I can’t have you, no one can.
The very same message as the last one he sent me.
