Chapter 5
The door creaked open.
Bringing with him a faint trace of whiskey and the pungent, cloying stench of gardenia perfume, Ethan slid under the duvet.
He wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed the back of my neck, as though he were a devoted husband watching over his ailing wife. The kiss felt like another lie.
Beside me, his breathing soon grew steady and heavy.
Under the covers, I slowly opened my eyes, staring fixedly at the ceiling.
I could no longer rely on Ethan or Lily to reach anyone, much less let them speak on my behalf.
Before they could weave their web of lies claiming I had lost my mind, I had to establish a lifeline entirely my own.
Silently, I slipped my phone out from beneath the pillow, dimming the screen to its lowest setting.
I scrolled all the way to the bottom of my contacts, stopping at a name I hadn't reached out to in far too long.
Nora.
My closest friend of nearly a decade, the one person in Boston who truly understood me.
After the crash, Ethan had claimed that "Claire needs absolute quiet and can't handle any noise or visitors," completely severing my private connection with her.
Opening the empty chat box, my fingers moved across the keyboard with featherlight, rapid strokes:
[Nora, it's Claire.]
[Do not call me, and do not contact Ethan or Lily. Just send one line confirming if you'll be there tomorrow.]
[Meet me tomorrow at eleven in the morning by the back door of your Newbury Street studio. I have something critical to tell you.]
[Keep this between us. Don't tell a soul.]
Send.
The second the text went through, I wiped the entire thread clean without hesitation, sliding the phone back deep beneath the pillow.
In the pitch-black room, only the steady heartbeat of the traitor beside me remained.
Three minutes later.
The pillow gave a faint vibration.
Beneath the sheets, a corner of the screen flared silently to life.
NORA: [I'm here. Tomorrow at eleven, back door. See you then.]
Reading those words, my clenched jaw finally began to loosen, and I swiftly deleted Nora's reply.
At seven in the morning, the mattress beside me suddenly lightened.
Ethan crept out of bed, and the muffled buzz of an electric razor soon drifted from the bathroom.
I remained on my side, eyes shut, keeping my breathing slow and measured, letting the lingering mix of gardenia and whiskey fade into the morning air.
After finishing his routine, he walked back to the bedside, brushed a kiss against the crown of my head, and muttered under his breath, "Almost over. Just need to clean up this whole mess."
Once his footsteps faded down the stairs, I opened my eyes, sat up, and pressed my temples.
The faint whoosh of air in my right ear lingered, yet the outside world was already filtering in with crisp precision.
Over breakfast, Ethan typed a large line of text onto a tablet and slid it in front of me:
[I have a meeting at eleven with some investors from New York. Want me to take you to MGH this afternoon for a follow-up?]
Taking the stylus, I jotted down a neat line on a notepad:
"I actually have a hearing test scheduled for today. You focus on your work—the hospital provides shuttle service, so I can go alone. Don't let me hold you up."
A barely perceptible look of relief crossed Ethan's face. Then he put on an expression of tender approval and slowly mouthed, "Stay safe."
Lily brought out fried eggs from the kitchen, her eyes sweeping over the note by my hand, a smug, faint smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.
They thought I was shrinking into my shell, growing accustomed to keeping out of everyone's way.
A retreat they were only too happy to see.