Page 33 of Rich Little Liars

And it was working.

I’d been pulling away from Daniel for weeks by then. Not because of anything he’d done, but because of what Roxanne had suggested he might do. Might be doing. The hypothetical infidelities she’d planted had become more real than our actual marriage.

I stood and moved to the sink, washing the mugs we’d used, the plate that had held the pastries. Her fingerprints were probably on these surfaces. Her DNA mixed with mine like she was now a core part in the movie of my life. Roxanne played the concerned friend. I played the grateful recipient of her wisdom. Both of us pretended this was normal. That friendships naturally developed this level of intensity.

This level of invasion.

But it wasn’t normal. I knew it wasn’t. A real friend wouldn’t be there every single day. Wouldn’t know where I kept my dishcloths and which cupboard held the cookies and exactly how Daniel took his coffee. A real friend wouldn’t insert herself so completely into my life that I couldn’t remember what things were like before she’d arrived.

A real friend wouldn’t try to destroy my marriage from the inside.

The thought hit me suddenly, sharp and clear and terrifying.

That’s what she was doing. That’s what all of this had been. The constant presence. The intimate knowledge. The suggestions about Daniel’s behaviour. She wasn’t trying to help me.

She was trying to replace me.

I gripped the edge of the sink, my hands wet and trembling. The realisation felt both absurd and completely obvious. How had I let her get this close without recognising what she was doing?

Because she was good at it. Because she made herself seem harmless. Needy. Grateful for any scrap of friendship. Like she was the one who needed rescuing, who needed the kindness of strangers to survive. And it made you want to help. Made you feel guilty for having boundaries. For saying no. For protecting yourself.

It was manipulation wrapped in vulnerability.

And I’d fallen for it completely.

I thought about the past six weeks. About how Roxanne had arrived with nothing and had slowly acquired everything. Not just material things – though there were plenty of those scattered through my house by then – but information. Knowledge. Intimacy. She knew things about my marriage that my nearest and dearest hadn’t known. She’d seen Daniel and me at our worst. She’d been present for arguments and silences and all the small failures that happened when two people stopped trying. She’d catalogued our weaknesses.

And now she was exploiting them.

The question was: why?

What did she want? If she was trying to break up my marriage, what did she gain? Daniel himself? Was that it? Had she developed feelings for him and decided the best way to have him was to first destroy what we had?

Or was it something else? Something darker? Maybe she just enjoyed it. The power of injecting herself into someone’s life and watching it crumble. Maybe this was what she did. Moved from place to place, befriending lonely women, destroying their relationships, then moving on to the next victim.

I didn’t know. Couldn’t know. But I did know one thing with absolute certainty.

She wasn’t my friend.

She’d never been my friend.

And I needed her gone.

The next day passed without word from Roxanne. No texts. No calls. No knock at the door. I told myself this was good. That my sharpness yesterday had worked. That she’d finally given me the space I’d asked for. But I couldn’t shake the feeling this was temporary. That she wasn’t gone, just regrouping. Planning her next move while I was foolish enough to think I’d won.

I spent the day working, or trying to. My concentration was fractured. Every sound made me look up. Every shadow past the window made my heart jump. I was waiting for her to appear. Waiting for the moment she decided that a single day of absence was enough penance and she could return to her position in my life.

She didn’t come.

By evening, I was more unsettled than relieved. Because Roxanne’s absence felt louder than her presence ever had. It felt like strategy. Like she was making me miss her by staying away. Making me doubt my own assessment of the situation. Making me wonder if maybe I’d overreacted. Maybe her intentions had really been good and I’d pushed her away for no reason. That’s what she did. Made you question yourself.

Made you feel like you were the problem.

I wouldn’t let her do that any more.

When Daniel came home, I was ready to talk. Ready to tell him everything. About Roxanne’s insinuations and constant presence and the way she’d been poisoning our marriage. About how we needed to cut her off completely. Both of us. No more coffee meetups. No more dinners. No more pretending this was a normal friendship.

But when he walked in, he looked exhausted. Defeated.