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  ‘Relax? How do you expect me to relax when I have to go home and tell my fiancée what I’ve done?’

  ‘Then don’t go home. Stay.’

  ‘Stay? You slammed that door shut when you chose drugs over me.’

  ‘Oh, don’t pin our breakup on me. You chose to leave me. You knew I was struggling and you couldn’t hold my hand through it. That is on you.’

  ‘What did you expect from me? You were constantly popping pills, always a mess … I couldn’t live with you anymore.’

  ‘But that’s what you vowed to do when you married me – for better, for worse, and all that shit. I needed you, and you walked out on me at my lowest point like our marriage certificate wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on. How could you do that when I gave you every part of me?’

  ‘I’m sorry I hurt you.’ His voice was mellow now, the fight gone from it. ‘But what you did last night was evil. I know exactly what you did. You purposely lied to me, drugged me, then seduced me. What am I supposed to tell Sienna? She’s probably wondering where the hell I’ve been all night. I can’t believe I trusted you. I should have known better. You’ve only ever cared about yourself.’

  By now he’d found all of his discarded clothes and was mostly dressed, hopping as he pulled on his socks on the way out of my bedroom.

  ‘That’s not true. I did it for you – because I can love you better than she can. I know you, what you like, what you want, who you are. When you were a hundred pounds heavier, who loved you? Me! When you were jobless, who supported you? Me! I never judged you, never looked down on you, never resented you. I loved you for who you were, always. Can Sienna say that? If you gained that weight back, would she still lust after you? If you lost your job, would she happily support you? I don’t think so, Tony, because there is no one else who would lie, drug, and seduce you just to keep you. That, my friend, is how much I love you. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.’

  He stood at the front door, one hand resting on the doorknob, worming his foot halfway into one shoe while holding the other.

  ‘There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me, huh? Then do this one last thing: let me go.’

  Chapter 33

  Mackenzie

  SUNDAY MORNING

  It was a strange, unexpected thought as I glanced over at the man I had married, wondering how the ugliest of hearts could be wrapped in the most beautiful skin. Evil never sleeps, they say. But I was watching it sleep at this very moment, in my own bed.

  My bedroom was unusually silent, devoid of the stentorian snoring that usually tortured my ears all night long. Owen slept more soundly than usual, it seemed. Maybe it was a fitting way to go. He didn’t know I was here, my eyes glued to him slumbering. I imagined what dreams fluttered through his head, what fears manifested or hopes surfaced. My last dream was about Robin and I taking a beach trip together, wriggling our toes in the sand, running in the surf. We were friends again in my dream. But that wasn’t last night, because last night I hadn’t slept. Instead I sat in my car in an empty parking lot brooding and plotting. Then plotting and brooding some more.

  Memories of Owen choking me kept me company in my car for hours. Bruises and red dashes across my skin pulsated in the darkness. His words belittling me, stripping me of all dignity, stealing all my self-worth, echoing against the walls of my mind. I came to a realization last night: I couldn’t live with him anymore. And I couldn’t survive without him. But with his insurance policy, I could rise again.

  Now here I was, standing above my husband, my mind clear and my hatred fully formed.

  How evil and love coexisted inside of me was a mystery I couldn’t solve. Owen had been my first love, the one who burrowed into my heart for keeps. No matter how much he had rotted on the inside, he was a gorgeous man to look at. He’d always taken great care of himself, working out regularly at the fitness club and eating healthily – which meant I’d had to give up some of my favorite Southern fried dishes. I’d often compared him to Bradley Cooper – my personal Hollywood heartthrob – but Owen would just shrug and say that looks weren’t everything. He was right. If only I had seen what was underneath the handsome façade, I wouldn’t be standing here contemplating murder.

  The day we first met, he had approached me in the cafeteria, buttoned-up shirt straining against his rippling muscles, his posture straight and soldierly. And like a good little soldier, he was always ready for battle.

  He battled against my friends to date me and won. Then he battled my parents for my hand in marriage and won again. He battled through our twenty-plus years together to maintain control. He won again and again, until now. Now it was my turn.

  In the darkness I watched him lying there on his side, gray bedspread pulled up to his chin. Gray, the color of our life together. The color of our bland marriage, full of routine predictability because God forbid we ever go on an adventure together. We shopped at the same stores, dined at the same restaurants, prepared the same meals, spent our weekends doing the same thing over and over on endless repeat, day after week after month after year. Daring to color outside the lines would certainly send our lives crashing into the abyss, as far as Owen was concerned. And so on it went in predictable banality, so much that sometimes I wanted to lash out and do something daring just to see what would happen. Would our insular little world explode? Would we survive the change?

  Fear drives evil, and Owen was deeply afraid. A man controls someone else because he’s afraid of losing his puppet, or more likely, himself. Just as Owen controlled me, because I let him be what he wanted to be – powerful and in charge. In the bedroom he made sure I knew this, and for those hellish minutes he had full control over my body, my voice, my will.

  I loved him every other minute in the day except for those minutes when I hated him, loathed him, wished him dead. And those minutes added up night after night. He had chipped away at my self-worth until nothing remained. He had sabotaged my friendships, turning people against me. I suffered in silence, because Aria at least remained untouched. Owen was my cross to bear, but Aria … he wouldn’t be hers.

  But things changed. Owen changed. Aria changed. And now I had changed. I touched the sore spot on my neck that had already begun to purple. I hoped my concealer would be sufficient to cover it, since a turtleneck in May would raise red flags. I’d gotten used to hiding my face along with the bruises – mostly easy to cover on my upper arms or ass. But every once in a while it wasn’t so easy to hide, and using the old ‘I ran into the door’ excuse never worked. Friends saw through it. Hell, even strangers knew that line. It had become something of a twisted game keeping the secret from Aria – that her father was a boxer in the bedroom and her mother a weak punching bag.

  Last night I made the decision, for real this time. I wanted Owen out of my life and no longer in a position to taint my daughter’s perception of men and marriage and relationships. But if I left him, he’d still have his chokehold, because he controlled the money that controlled me. I could get a crappy job with my limited skills – a career sacrifice that all stay-at-home moms blindly made as we trusted our husbands to stand by us until death do us part. I could barely scrape by, but he’d end up with full custody of Aria, because money bought lawyers who bought custody. Real freedom was what I wanted, and I knew just how to get it.

  Despite Owen’s empty threat, the locks hadn’t been changed. In fact, like an idiot he had left the back door cracked open, an invitation for trouble. He was lucky it was only me slipping in through the back and not some vandal. He had no idea how much I did for this family behind the scenes, keeping us safe and fed and out of debt. What gratitude did I get? None. Well, it was time to pay up.

  After eighteen cell phone messages alternating between threats and pleas for me to come home last night, each one drunker than the next, I knew I had him where I wanted him. You see, Owen was a deep sleeper to begin with, but after a couple of drinks he slept like the dead. I knew he’d turn to alcohol after I left and didn’
t immediately return. It was his crutch when he couldn’t cope.

  I didn’t get home until after three in the morning. Not wanting to be seen out in public, I had parked at the empty Monroeville Mall parking lot, just sitting and thinking and conjuring up a simple plan – so simple I didn’t think it would work. When I got home, it didn’t take long to stage the house without waking everyone, and before the blush of dawn I had finished my ultimate masterpiece. It looked perfect, from the broken glass of the back door, to the missing wallets, and even the stolen jewelry and other small valuables. The perfect staging for the perfect crime. And Owen’s precious Lexus that kept us car-rich but savings-poor was long gone, dropped off in the middle of the ghetto with the key in the ignition, where some lucky thug would be enjoying a free joyride this morning.

  All that was left was to complete the mission. Maybe I was a coward for plotting it like this, for waiting until Owen was defenseless and asleep, but I knew my limitations and I knew his strengths. This was the only way.

  The barking of the next-door neighbor’s dog prodded me with sudden urgency. Standing over him, I gently moved the covers just enough to reveal his neck. Hot tears burned my eyes, and I swallowed the knot in my throat. I’d miss him. I’d spent half of my life with him. I’d probably never find someone who could love me again, not with the way I looked … But that was Owen talking, wasn’t it? He was the one who told me I was too ugly to find love elsewhere. He was the one who constantly reminded me how much I needed him. He was the one who stole pieces of me until there was nothing left. Manipulating. Controlling. Gaslighting. Owen was getting what he deserved.

  You think I’m ugly? I’ll show you ugly. The thought was bitter but satisfying.

  One … two … three, I counted in my head.

  I banished the sadness and pressed the kitchen knife against his throat, my hands shaking but my resolve solid. I inhaled a draft of courage and lifted the knife. The blade glinted against the bathroom nightlight, which was casting my shadow across the floor. I closed my eyes, turned my head, and dashed the blade across his throat, using my weight to press the blade in deep. I couldn’t watch myself do it, so I let the pressure guide me. Initially his skin resisted, then I felt the pop of his flesh slicing open. Another push and the cartilage and soft tissue of his larynx gave way. I waited for something to happen, for him to scream in pain, for him to fight back … but nothing happened. He peacefully drifted off, and I was almost glad for him.

  Then he was gone.

  Chapter 34

  Mackenzie

  SUNDAY MORNING

  It took me eight minutes to properly wipe off my fingerprints following instructions gleaned from a Google search, then dispose of the knife. A simple drop-off in the neighbor’s garbage can several streets away, far enough that the police wouldn’t likely search it and deep enough that the owners wouldn’t notice it. As the moon hid behind a veil of clouds, I speed-walked home, avoiding streetlights as best I could. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I called Lily, desperate for the favor of a lifetime.

  ‘Why are you calling me at the butt crack of dawn?’ Lily said after picking up on the first ring. Lily always had a way with words.

  ‘Sorry for waking you, but it’s urgent. I need a favor.’ I didn’t know how much to say. All I knew was that my phone records would show this call when the police started investigating me, as they most surely would.

  ‘Never mind, I was already awake. What kind of favor?’

  ‘If anyone asks, I spent the night at your house last night. Okay? We had drinks at your place and I slept over. Then I left this morning – right around now. Then I called you to let you know I got home safely. Got it?’

  ‘No, I don’t got it. I can’t be your alibi tonight. Wait until tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s too late for that. Please.’

  ‘Mac, what’s going on? Are you okay?’ Uh-oh. I had triggered Lily’s worried voice. And she wouldn’t drop it until I answered to her satisfaction.

  ‘I can’t tell you yet. But you’ll find out soon.’ I didn’t want to drag her into it or make her an accomplice, so the less she knew, the better. I had already destroyed one friendship; I didn’t need to lose the other.

  ‘Ohhhh …’ I heard the wheels turning. ‘Did you leave Owen?’ Her voice lit up with pride. ‘Good girl!’

  ‘It’s a little more complicated than that, Lil. I need you to vouch for me … to the police.’

  ‘I malano miau! Are you serious? What kind of trouble are you in?’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough, but please? I need you to do this. Besides, I kept my mouth shut about you and Grant. You wouldn’t want Robin to find out, would you?’

  I hated myself for blackmailing Lily, but my survival instincts were kicking in. I needed her guarantee.

  ‘Listen, Mac, you know I would do anything for you, but you couldn’t have spent the night because Tony was here all night. If that comes out, your whole story falls apart.’

  ‘Tony’s there?’ I yelped. ‘That’s great!’ Here I was, a newly minted murderess, and Lily’s reconciliation with Tony seemed more important. I knew Lily still loved him, pined for him, tried every way to replace him in her heart. If I couldn’t have my happy ending, at least Lily could. I was glad for her, even while I had my husband’s blood on my hands, figuratively speaking. It was actually not nearly as gory as I had feared and expected.

  ‘Yes and no. It’s not exactly good news, but I’ll explain later. Anyway, I’m not sure he’ll be thrilled to accommodate any of my requests after today.’

  I calculated the odds of Tony’s sleepover coming up in a police interrogation. If she buried it, I doubted they’d dig deep enough to find out. Lily was my only shot at a credible alibi.

  ‘Look, you’re the only one I can ask. If the police come asking questions, just don’t mention Tony and it should be fine. They have no reason to go looking for him unless you bring him up. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if my life wasn’t on the line here. Please.’

  The silence stretched long and thin. I knew Lily, the eternal pragmatist, was wondering what exactly I had gotten myself into, and assessing her potential culpability.

  ‘Fine, I’ll vouch for you and keep Tony in the dark. Just one question: are you okay?’

  I laughed a sob. I was on the verge of crying, but I needed to hold myself together for what I was about to do next. ‘Ha. I’ve never been better. But I gotta go. I’ll explain everything later. I love you so much, Lily … and thanks.’

  I didn’t have time to fully process the fact that Tony was back in Lily’s life, but I’d mull over that later once my own skeletons stopped jangling. As I hung up, I noticed two voicemail messages I hadn’t listened to when I had skipped through Owen’s slew of calls. I clicked on the first one:

  ‘Heeey, Macky-poo.’ It was Owen, from last night. Drunk as a skunk. And using the pet name I loathed. ‘Please come home. I need you. I love you. Just … come home. Please, baby.’

  My chest constricted. I couldn’t breathe. With hands on my knees, I bent over, gasping while the corners of my vision darkened. Owen was gone. Dead. Forever. I couldn’t pull him back. I couldn’t fix what I’d done. And now, when it was too late, the reality caved in on me.

  A car’s headlights crested the hill behind me, scaring me. I shouldn’t be seen out here on the street. I ducked into the bushes, hiding until the vehicle passed. I waited, watched … breathed. At least I wasn’t panicking anymore.

  One more message, if I could handle it.

  ‘Strong, be strong.’ I’d never had any use for motivational speakers, but right now I could have really used one. ‘You can do this, Mac.’

  I held my finger over the voicemail icon, shaking violently. It was Owen again, but this time more lucid. As I listened, I realized this voicemail could cause me a lot of trouble. I considered deleting it, then wondered if the cops could retrieve it and how they would interpret it. But I didn’t have time to worry about that. I had to prepare for th
e performance of a lifetime. Though, with the emotional overload surging through me, it wouldn’t be difficult.

  My dark house loomed up ahead on the sleepy street, and I briskly jogged the rest of the way home. When I entered, I headed straight upstairs, cell phone in hand, my nerves shot. I paused briefly on the landing as I glanced into Aria’s room. Her door was ajar. She was sleeping soundly. The long night, the lack of rest, the anxiety, Owen’s peaceful face, the knife slicing across his neck, the phone message, the staging, the regret, the extreme guilt … it was all sloshing over me now, drowning me. As I entered our bedroom, I knew I had to finish this, rise above it, push ahead. It was the only way out, so I dialed the number.

  ‘9-1-1. What’s your emergency?’ the operator asked.

  I hadn’t gotten a word out before I fell into sobs. ‘My husband’s been attacked. It’s his throat – he was cut across the throat. Please hurry!’ It wasn’t difficult letting my voice naturally lose control, because I could feel myself slipping, my reality falling apart. It was all coming to a head.

  ‘Ma’am, try to remain calm. Is the perpetrator still in the house?’

  ‘No, no, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Is your husband still breathing?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

  ‘What’s the address, ma’am?’

  I gave her my home address, then ran to the master bathroom and grabbed a handful of towels, pressing them against his neck to soak up any blood, since that’s what a frantic wife who just found her husband’s throat slit would do.

  ‘An ambulance is on its way.’

  Minutes later I heard the squalling sirens of the ambulance and police vehicles speeding to the scene. The paramedics would rush into the house, the police would search for clues, the spotlight would shine on me. Was it worth it? It didn’t feel like it anymore.

  The curtain fell, and suddenly I felt so very alone.