Mary’s dead. She hurt me. I know she did because I canstill feel it tearing at my heart, chipping away at my spine. My own sister…she betrayed me. Hurt me.
I didn’t kill her, Samuel.
I didn’t. It wasn’t me. It was…me?
No. No. No. No.
Sophia. I pull the image up fast. Blonde. Green eyes. Paris. A window. The way her breath felt against my throat when she slept, slow and even, the peaceful rhythm of a person who had decided, at least for now, that they were safe.
She made me feel like I was worth that.
I didn't kill Mary.
The certainty is the same.
The same.
Is it the same?
...Is it?
The ceiling crack runs its course. Branches once. Stops short.
Sophia's face floats and blurs and floats again.
I close my eyes and hold on to the gold of her hair like a rope in the dark, and I don't let go, I don't let go, I don't?—
I don't let go.
Did I?
5
SOPHIA
The kettle’s on. Ian’s in the kitchen, and I’m standing in the hallway with Gerald in my hand thinking about going back to my room.
The woman in me doesn’t think she has the strength to face whatever almost happened last night. But the therapist is determined to deal with it head-on, to name it, to put it somewhere it can't fester.
He looks up when I come in. Something moves through his face—quick, barely there—before he reaches for the kettle.
"Coffee," he says. Not a question.
"Please."
He pours. Sets the cup across the counter. Sits back down with his own.
Outside the window, the garden is doing what it always does at this hour. Sunlight hits the persimmon tree at an angle that turns the leaves gold at the edges, the fruit hanging heavy and still unripe, andeverything looks exactly the same as yesterday morning and the morning before that.
Everything exactly as it always is.
Except…it isn't.
The air between us has a texture it didn't have yesterday. Not uncomfortable, exactly. Just—present. Like something that was invisible has been outlined and now neither of us can pretend we don't see the shape of it.
I sit down. Wrap both hands around my cup.
Ian is looking at his phone with the focused attention of a man reading something very important. I'm fairly certain the screen is off.
