Chapter 3

By the time I got home, Owen had already apologized on my behalf.

The statement had been posted on his show's page under my name.

[My behavior this morning was the result of the pressure I've been under at work. I misunderstood an innocent joke between two cohosts and unfairly hurt Sabine. I sincerely apologize.]

It ended with one final sentence:

[I'm grateful to my husband for always being so patient with me.]

By the time I finished reading, my fingers were too cold to hold my phone properly.

Owen was sitting on the couch with two glasses of wine on the coffee table, as if we'd had nothing more than an ordinary argument between husband and wife.

"What gave you the right to post this under my name?"

"You refused to handle the situation, so I handled it for you." Owen didn't seem remotely concerned.

"Delete it." I pointed at the statement on my phone.

"The station has already received complaints because you posted the full recording. Sabine spent the entire afternoon crying. Are you happy now?"

I threw my bag onto a chair. "What does my happiness have to do with it? You were both wrong, and now you have to deal with the consequences."

"You're my husband. You're supposed to stand beside me, not share our private life with another woman and everyone else who happens to be listening."

"She came to the clinic after work today. She told me she wants you and that she's going to make you divorce me."

Owen picked up his wine and frowned. "Why would she say something like that? Did you provoke her again?"

I almost laughed.

"Did you hear what I just said? She told me she wants you."

"She was angry."

"Being angry doesn't make that acceptable. What if I found another man, and he came to you and said the same thing? Would you be fine with it?"

"Laurel, don't invent ridiculous situations. That would never happen!"

His voice rose sharply.

I finally lost control, too. "So you're still going to defend her?"

Owen slammed his wineglass onto the table. "Look at you. Sabine was right. It's impossible to have a normal conversation with you."

I opened my mouth to answer, then noticed the phone on the coffee table.

Its camera was pointed directly at me. A small red recording symbol glowed at the top of the screen.

I reached for it, but Owen was faster.

"Are you recording me?"

"I wanted you to hear what you sound like when you lose your temper."

"Did Sabine tell you to do this?"

"Stop dragging her into everything."

He stopped the recording and hurried to delete the video.

I lunged forward and caught his wrist. As we struggled, the phone fell onto the carpet, and his chat with Sabine appeared on the screen.

Her latest message had arrived half an hour earlier.

[Don't explain anything to her. Let her keep talking. Make sure the camera is pointed at her, and keep yourself out of the frame.]

Owen went rigid.

I grabbed the phone and quickly photographed that message along with the rest of their conversation.

Sabine had even written out questions for him to use when he wanted to provoke me. She reminded him to mention my work, my mother, and the accusation I feared most—that I was emotionally unstable.

"Delete those pictures." Owen held out his hand.

I backed away to the other side of the dining table. "What were you planning to do with that video?"

"No one was planning anything. She's worried you'll keep attacking the show."

"So you and that woman decided to set up your own wife?"

His lips parted, but no answer came.

I didn't wait for one.

I emailed the photographs to myself, then forwarded them to the clinic manager.

After that, I deleted the video from Owen's phone while he watched.

His expression darkened. "Are you trying to destroy me?"

"I should be asking you that."

His phone chimed.

Sabine had sent him a voice message.

Before Owen could stop it, her voice began playing through the room.

"If she still refuses to apologize, bring her to the listeners' event on Friday."

"Once she's standing in front of me, I'll make sure everyone sees exactly how frightening she really is."

The living room went deathly still.

I looked at Owen. "Impressive. Were you planning to take me?"

He avoided my eyes. "The show has already announced that you'll be there."

"Who agreed to that?"

"I did."

I nodded, picked up my coat, and walked past him.

"Fine. Tell Sabine I'll be there on Friday."

Owen finally looked up, as if he couldn't believe I had agreed.

I didn't tell him I wasn't going there to apologize.

Sabine wanted everyone to see how frightening I was.

This time, I wanted everyone to see exactly who she was.