Chapter 3
Ethan chuckled softly, lifting his wine glass to take a sip.
"She takes sleeping pills at night, so she'll be out cold in no time. Just wait for me."
As he spoke, his left hand reached beneath the table and clasped mine.
His palm felt warm against my skin.
With his right hand, he tapped out another tender lie in his phone's notes app.
[Tomorrow, I'll take you for a walk along the Charles River. The doctor said getting some sun will do wonders for your recovery.]
Under the table, my grip on the fork tightened slightly.
Throughout the entire dinner, I felt like a ghost trapped inside a transparent glass jar.
I watched my husband pour out declarations of endless love on a screen with one hand, while casually mapping out the details of a late-night affair with my own sister right across the table.
I forced down a small bite of steak, keeping my expression neutral.
Just past nine, we arrived back home.
Stepping through the door, Ethan poured a glass of warm water and handed me two pills.
Standing before me, he exaggerated his lip movements, gesturing with his hands to mimic going to sleep.
Right in front of him, I popped the pills into my mouth, took a large gulp of water, and swallowed visibly.
He smiled with satisfaction, rubbing the crown of my head affectionately.
What he didn't know was that the pills were tucked securely under the base of my tongue.
The second I closed the master bathroom door behind me, I spat the medication straight into the toilet and flushed it down.
Ten-fifteen.
The mattress on the master bed dipped slightly as Ethan slid in beside me.
He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead and tucked the corners of the duvet around me.
I kept my eyes closed, letting my breathing settle into a slow, steady rhythm.
Half an hour later.
The mattress shifted again.
A faint rustle broke the quiet as Ethan slipped out from beneath the covers.
Without even putting on his slippers, he padded barefoot out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him with barely a whisper.
The lock clicked shut softly.
I opened my eyes in the dark, peeled back the covers, and stepped barefoot onto the cold hardwood floor.
At the end of the hallway, the guest room door was cracked open an inch.
A dim sliver of light from the wall sconce spilled out, carrying the muffled sounds of a hushed quarrel.
I pressed myself against the wall, holding my breath until my lungs burned.
"Keep your voice down!" Ethan's tone bristled with irritation.
"Why should I keep it down?" Lily's voice spiked. "She can't hear a damn thing!"
A rustle of fabric followed, as if Ethan had yanked her close.
"I warned you: don't make trouble under this roof until she asks for the divorce herself."
"I'm the one making trouble?" Lily scoffed, her tone sharp and shrill. "Ethan, be honest with yourself—who started this between us? That weekend before the accident, when you lied about a business trip to New York just to take me away to Rhode Island, why didn't you say I was making trouble then?"
A business trip to New York.
That had been two weeks before the crash.
It was pouring rain in Boston that day, and I had stayed home alone sorting through his tax receipts, leaving a sticky note on his luggage reminding him that his stomach medicine was tucked in the side pocket.
It turned out that before the accident.
Back when I could still hear every single sound.
They had already been sleeping together.
"That was different," Ethan said, his voice dropping low. "She hadn't been in the crash yet."
"How is it any different?" Lily pressed him. "Ever since the crash, you've been chickening out! You keep saying she's deaf and needs care, but the truth is you're just terrified of being dragged through the mud by everyone!"
"The state she's in right now is our best opportunity!"