Kelsie woke up on the floor the next day.
She stood up and moved mechanically. Bathroom. Brush teeth. Wash face. She avoided looking in the mirror. She didn't want to see the dark circles or the hollowness in her cheeks.
She changed into jeans and a sweater-the clothes she had packed the night before. She grabbed her suitcase.
The hallway was quiet. The door to the master bedroom was closed.
She went downstairs. The kitchen was empty.
On the granite island, there was a notepad. A single sheet of paper with Judge's sharp, angular handwriting.
Go buy something nice for dinner. Be home by 6.
Next to the note was his black Amex card. The heavy metal kind.
Kelsie picked it up. It felt cold and heavy in her hand. He thought this was the apology. He thought money and a command could fix the cracks in the foundation.
She walked to the trash compactor. She slid the heavy metal card into the slot. She pressed the button. The machine whirred to life with a low growl that escalated into a violent, satisfying crunch as the titanium was mangled beyond recognition. She threw the note in after it.
She walked out the front door. The morning air was crisp.
Kia's red car was idling at the curb, just outside the gate. Kelsie must have walked the quarter mile without even realizing it.
She got in. Kia handed her a coffee without a word.
"He didn't stop you?" Kia asked as they pulled away.
"He's asleep. Or pretending to be."
"What did he do?"
"He tried to get me pregnant," Kelsie said, staring at the steam rising from the cup. "Then I heard him on the phone with her."
Kia slammed her hand against the steering wheel. "That asshole! Did you hear a name?"
"No. Just the tone. He loves her, Kia. Whoever she is, he loves her."
Kelsie pulled out her phone. "But I have something."
"What?"
"Last night, when I saw the text... I saw the number. It's stuck in my head. The number."
"Give it to me," Kia said.
Twenty minutes later, they were back at Kia's apartment. Her boyfriend, Zane, took one look at Kelsie's face and quietly took his gaming headset off, vacating the desk chair.
"It's all yours," he mumbled, disappearing into the bedroom.
Kia sat at the computer. She cracked her knuckles. "Okay. Let's find this bitch."
She opened a browser and went to a paid background check site. She typed in the number Kelsie recited. "Area code 617... ending in 8829."
The search bar spun. Kelsie's heart hammered in her throat.
"Got it," Kia said.
A profile popped up.
Name: Angelique McCall
Age: 26
Address: 42 Oak Creek Lane, Boston, MA
A photo loaded.
It was a driver's license photo, but even the harsh lighting couldn't hide her beauty. Pale skin, large, watery blue eyes, fragile features. She looked like a porcelain doll that would shatter if you touched it.
Kelsie stared at the screen. The room tilted.
"Oh my god," she whispered.
"You know her?" Kia asked.
"I know her," Kelsie said, her voice trembling, the words tasting like ash. "That's Angelique. His stepsister. He always showed me pictures of her when she was a little girl... sick in a hospital bed. "
