2: 2
Paula froze where she stood, her fingertips curling.
She was so stunned she forgot to close her mouth.
"Bruce, I never took you for someone this cold-blooded. A girl going home alone at night is dangerous enough, and she's been drinking on top of that."
"And you're just going to leave her to it?"
Miles's tone was theatrical, as if by not driving her I'd committed some terrible wrong.
"Bruce, I'm sorry. I've become a burden to you."
Paula swayed to her feet, ready to apologize to me.
Her body tipped, and she looked like she was about to fall straight toward me.
"Paula!"
My wife moved fast and caught her.
The flash of resentment in Paula's eyes chilled me.
As if—
as if my wife wasn't supposed to have caught her.
Our daughter started crying in the bedroom.
My wife went to soothe her, and Miles, Paula, and I headed downstairs, one after another.
Then Paula suddenly braced herself against the wall and gagged, slumping into the back seat like she'd lost consciousness.
She mumbled my wife's name under her breath.
"Paula, maybe I should just go back with you."
My wife looked at her friend, her mind still on our daughter.
I saw the difficult spot she was in and suggested Miles drive her instead.
"Me? I barely know her."
He brushed it off completely.
I glanced at the two of them, and suddenly I smiled.
Fine.
Interesting.
"I'll drive her."
This was something I needed to get to the bottom of.
Without another word I walked back to my room, found the sports action camera, clipped it to my belt, and covered it with my shirt.
Coming back down, I saw Miles standing by the car, his eyes sweeping over me with a trace of unease.
"But my wife's coming with me."
Paula's closed eyes snapped open, then she quickly pretended to just be shifting in her sleep and rolled over.
My wife sat in the back.
I took the front passenger seat myself.
The scenery on both sides slid past in a blur.
In my last life, at exactly this hour, I drove Paula home.
Worried she'd get carsick and fall, I even buckled her seatbelt for her.
Not one word the whole way.
Yet the dashcam footage clearly showed me stroking her thigh while we waited at a red light.
Even more absurd, she had cameras installed in both her living room and her bedroom.
The footage showed me half-carrying her back into her room, my hands all over her.
She even had a DNA test report on me.
Every piece of evidence pointed straight at me.
Overnight, my world was turned upside down and left in ruins.
My mother's hair went white because of it, and the online comments enraged her into a heart attack.
While my mind churned through all of it, the Uber pulled to a smooth stop outside her complex.
My wife supported Paula, who couldn't stand steady.
"You just had the baby not long ago. Let me."
I bent down and hooked my arm under Paula, who was still faking her drunkenness, keeping as normal a distance from her as I could.
My wife on one side, me on the other.
Only this time, I deliberately stepped back a couple of paces.
I let my wife hold her up and lay her down on the bed.
"Thirsty... Jessica, my stomach's off. I want some of that sobering-up broth you make."
I entertain clients a lot, and my wife, afraid I'd ruin my health drinking, had learned how to make sobering-up broth.
So of course she didn't hesitate and turned to go make it.
The pot had barely started to steam when I got a call from Miles. His voice was frantic, and a child was wailing in the background.
"Bruce, we've got a problem. Get your wife back here, fast."
